


With the Sun in My Eyes

by tplink



Series: Flower Boy [1]
Category: Dragon Quest Series, Dragon Quest XI
Genre: AU but Mostly Canon Compliant, Arranged Marriage, Curses, Enemies to Lovers and Lovers to Enemies, Expanded/Made Up Lore, Flowers, Kidnapping, Light Blood/Violence, M/M, Mermaids, Minor Original Character(s), Other DQ characters, Pirates, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Zwaardsrust Never Fell AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27844201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tplink/pseuds/tplink
Summary: Notorious sword for hire, Sylvando, is content with the life and the family he’s made for himself while sailing aboard The Stallion. Lucrative funds suddenly come from none other than the princess of Heliodor, who has tasked him with the kidnapping of her betrothed: Hendrik, the only prince of Zwaardsrust, so that she might escape their arranged marriage. Unfortunately for them, their plan may just shed light on a conspiracy against the prince that has been several years in the making. Oh, and Erik meets a merman.Basically, a Pirate/Prince AU. Main plot is Sylvando/Hendrik & Jasper/Hendrik, with a generous serving of Luminerik and a little Jade/Serena on the side.
Relationships: Camus | Erik/Hero | Luminary (Dragon Quest XI), Graig | Hendrik/Homer | Jasper (Dragon Quest XI), Graig | Hendrik/Sylvia | Sylvando (Dragon Quest XI), Marutina | Jade/Sena | Serena
Series: Flower Boy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2094876
Comments: 40
Kudos: 43





	1. Surface Waves

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there. :3c Welcome back to another episode of me screaming about Sylvendrik. I have a vague idea about where this is going and lots of sassy drama planned, but I’m mostly just kinda running with this idea as it goes. I will also be dangerously self indulgent. It’s my sleepover and I get to chose the rarepair.
> 
> It was so hard to contain myself with just the first chapter, since everything needs to be put into place, and for some characters it’s my first time writing from their perspective. 
> 
> Fun fact is that I didn’t know there was an actual flower named Prins Hendrik. I almost cried when I found out. Also, there is a throwaway line in this chapter that quotes my favorite game: Twilight Princess.
> 
> Thanks for stopping by. Hope you enjoy this introduction and please don’t be shy if you’d like to share your thoughts. 💖

There are many fabled children of Zwaardsrust. Among them is the lands oldest and most storied daughter; Koningin Begonia, the first Queen of Zwaardsrust. According to Drustian legend, Begonia was wise, beautiful, and just, as any queen should be, and loved her kingdom and its people with a deeply rooted passion that spread across the entire land. The love she harbored for her sworn knight and protector, however, was a love like no other. 

Entangled though they were, her love would never blossom to fruition. Koningin Begonia’s knight perished on the battlefield. Heart broken and inconsolable, the Queen took to the withered remains of the field where her lover succumbed, and planted on it a canvas of flowers. Upon the battleground were asters, larkspurs, wisterias, and purple clematis named after her love, as far as the eye could see. 

The field came to be known as the _Slagveld_ in generations come to pass. And so that Zwaardsrust would always remember their first queen, it became tradition to name every member of the royal family after one of the flowers planted by their ancestor. 

Though long since passed from this realm, it is said that Koningin Begonia still lurks on the _Slagveld_ in some part. Perhaps due to her lingering regrets at never being able to join with her knight in the living world, but the fraction of her spirit that still lingers is not fully malevolent as some restless wanderers are believed to be. 

Rather, with her undying love for Zwaardsrust and her people, fables tell that should two people plant a flower on the _Slagveld_ , they will be blessed by Begonia and fated never to be apart for as long as they live. Under her divine protection, always. Another tale preaches that should affections between them prove empty or unrequited, a curse of hardship should strike them again and again. However, this part of the legend is scarcely believed, spurred on by the embittered and faithless.

As the years turned to decades, and decades grew to centuries, no one really knew whether this myth bore any truth. But it has become something of an old myth; an exploration merely for adventurous and inexperienced lovers to test the bonds of their devotion to one another. 

_Journal entry_ , Anonymous. Date unknown.

——✿❀✿——

Even in her modest disguise, the Princess of Heliodor stood out amongst the buzzing, drunken crowd of the old tavern. She wore a hood to obscure her face and the simple attire of a peasant girl, yet still, her posture was composed; regal bearing, and possessed an air that commanded attention and respect. She was not here to garner such things, of course, but surely any nosey onlookers would have been curious as to why such an elegantly beautiful woman was seated across the table from none other than Sylvando, one of the most notorious swords for hire across all of Erdrea. Perhaps better known to some by his alias; Lady Bombastic, _La Rosa Del Mar_. It was an odd sight, but most patrons of the tavern knew better than to ask questions when it came to any business of La Rosa. 

“You have my gratitude for agreeing to meet with me here tonight,” Jade started, “I have an important request for you, one regarding my…” Even in the dark, the trepidation upon her face was still apparent. “…regarding my betrothed. As you know who I am, you also know that I have the means to pay you a great deal for your services.”

Sylvando spoke, legs clad in worn out black boots crossed on top of the table, “You certainly went through a _great deal_ to reach me, my little darling. Six months worth of missives and messenger birds following me everywhere we sailed, each and every one of them more desperate than the last, practically begging for us to meet here. And now here I finally am… you sure know how to make a man feel wanted, no?”

Jade scoffed unbecomingly, but it was obvious to Sylvando that such a gesture was not towards him. Something else weighed heavily on her mind, likely the entire reason they were fated to meet here in the first place. She had been on edge since before Sylvando had arrived, fashionably late, per his branding. “I should hope not,” The princess shook her head, her voice quiet and mild-tempered despite appearing slighted just moments ago, “That is the problem here that needs dealing with. To garner any man’s attentions would not only be a slight to myself, but towards my beloved.”

“Your beloved?” Sylvando asked, “Right, that little Drustian prince...” He had heard of their engagement, but most had, minus perhaps those who lived underneath the waves the _Stallion_ sailed over. What would she have him do?

“Oh please,” the princess scoffed again, and Sylvando had started to think it was something she did often. “He is anything but _little_ , and my beloved? I think not.”

“You don’t love him?” Now Sylvando was curious. That was an odd revelation, considering that Princess Jade was to be wed in only a week’s time. 

“How could I? There is no love between us, at least not of the… marriageable kind,” Jade waved her hand as if to dismiss the thought, “I have known Hendrik since I was a child, and I know more than anyone that he is just going along with all of this for the sake of pleasing our families. Too loyal for his own good, it’s almost admirable, but that’s not quite going to work for me. Though my father has promised me to the prince, I’m afraid that I have promised myself to another.”

Sylvando gave out a heartened chuckle and a shake of his head. “Going against the wishes of old daddy dearest?” He had no time to get involved with the superficial problems burdened onto the rich and powerful, but a part of Sylvando loved the dramatic scandal of it all. The theatrics. “But what of your husband to be? If he is as loyal as you say, he surely wouldn’t approve of being left at the altar. Who knew _la princesa_ was such a cunning little minx!”

“Call me that again, and I will make sure to break every bone in your body,” Jade warned him, “But I don’t have the time to find another mercenary, let alone one of your accord. The wedding is in a week, and Hendrik is expected in Heliodor by tomorrow.”

“ _Expected_ …?” Sylvando emphasized, trying to fill in a blank but he undoubtedly already knew the answer. No one ever hired him for anything pleasant. “You mean, of course, to have me…”

“No,” His companion interrupted with a shake of her head, much to his surprise, “He is not to be killed, or harmed at all for that matter. I don’t want you to kill him, rather, I think it best that you… abduct him?” Her phrasing turned into more of a question, as if suddenly bashful. Sylvando could hardly blame her; Jade was of a certain standing. She probably never had to dirty her hands once in her privileged life, let alone go against the very order that her father the King represented. One didn’t just simply order a kidnapping, let alone the kidnapping of the only prince of Zwaardsrust, and yet here she was doing just that. It took guts. That or she was simply insane, certainly way in over her head, but Sylvando could respect that. He respected crazy. 

Even then, he couldn’t help the flash of surprise that lit up his face as he sat upright. “ _Abduct_ him?” These royals were certainly interesting, weren’t they? Their money wasn’t half bad either. “And just what do you suppose I do with him? I am a very busy man, you know. I can’t just be expected to babysit some spoiled rich boy.” 

“Oh, but that is exactly what I’m asking you to do,” Jade leaned in closely, “There cannot be a wedding without a bride or groom. I only need you to hold onto him until my beloved and I make our escape. Just a month, that will give us more than enough time to surpass even my father’s reach. And I will pay you of course, upfront, for your troubles.”

She settled a purse onto the table, and the sound of coin jingling already resounded itself in Sylvando’s welcoming ears. He peaked inside, and in the pouch was more gold than he had ever seen in his life. Ever would see, assuming he somehow died in the process of this all. A very likely prospect, considering.

Any man less courageous than he would have likely called it quits by then, and for good reason. Hendrik van de Langenberg was not only a prince, but an accomplished knight and one of Zwaardsrust’s most celebrated sons. Or so Sylvando had heard. Getting him to go anywhere he didn’t want to would be a challenge all on it’s own were those rumors to hold any true merit, and one challenge that any sane person wouldn’t be up to taking. But luckily for them both, he was _Lady Bombastic, La Rosa del Mar_. And Lady Bombastic was not anywhere near sane. 

Sylvando pocketed his new find. “That’s all very well and good then, but how am I supposed to get some unwilling soul onto my boat unharmed? What if the little princey poo had an oopsie? Just a tiny one?”

“He won’t,” Jade stressed, “Maybe just a hit over the head if you absolutely need it, and only because he enraged me the last time we spoke with a bunch of poetic nonsense about duty, but nothing more. Follow this order, and I’ll be sure to pay you double.”

“Yes, yes,” Sylvando said, “We speak the same language, my dear. Not a lavender hair upon his head shall come under any harm so long as he’s my responsibility.”

“That’s odd,” the princess paused, as if suddenly inspecting Sylvando closely. A pale hand was placed upon her chin in thought, and she asked him, “I don’t remember describing him to you yet. Have you seen him before?” Another question interrupted that one, “Where did you say you were from?” 

He ignored the latter to answer the first, “Oh, I’ve encountered the little prince once before.” It technically wasn’t a lie. “During some parade, I think, back when I was just a boy. Young Prins Hendrik rode on the back of this behemoth of a black horse, his back ramrod straight atop of it. He was so tiny compared to it, I’ve never seen anything more ridiculous in my life.”

That explanation seemed to please Jade. “That sounds like Hendrik,” A look of fondness washed over her face before she moved on to the pressing matter at hand. “There will be a ball two nights from now, with everyone wearing masks. My idea of course, as conveniently nefarious as it is. I want to have one more night of fun before I settle down.” Or so she would have everyone believe. “My husband to be will be there. You can make your move then.”

She made the prospect seem so simple, but it was always easier said than done. Then again, technically she was the only one who said anything, with Sylvando as the lucky one who would do all of the… doing. 

“And I’m just supposed to wander up and grab him? What about guards? Onlookers? Surely someone ought to notice when he goes missing?” Sylvando asked.

“I leave that up to you, you’re the expert after all,” Jade stood up, prepared to make her leave, “Not to mention a cunning little minx. I’m sure you’ll think of something.” And at that Sylvando couldn’t help but smile.

He meant to stop her for one more question, but Princess Jade seemed to read his mind. “Your second payment you can retrieve in two weeks. Meet me at the _Slagveld_ in Zwaardsrust.”

“Why of all places would you want to stop there?” Sylvando stared at her cheekily before his voice took on a teasing tone. “How sweet! Don’t tell me that Miss Princess believes in that silly old fairytale?” 

“It’s really none of your concern what I believe in, but if you must know, then yes. I do. The promise of being bonded together, forever… What better place to take my future wife as we start our new lives together?” 

Jade really was quite naïve, Sylvando thought to himself. But she had the self assuredness and the know how (or at least the money) to get what she wanted, that couldn’t be argued, so he supposed she wasn’t so bad after all. He admired her optimism. To be young and recklessly in love, what a sweet solace.

When all was said and done and the curtain finally closed, maybe she would be alright. As for Prins Hendrik, well? He was merely a means to an end. Certainly a little heartbreak never hurt anyone, and it was made all the sweeter when it helped line Sylvando’s pockets with gold. He had a crew to pay, mouths to feed, and a ship to maintain, after all. Being a king in his own right came with more than enough responsibility to keep him occupied.

“I can’t think of any place better, darling,” Sylvando turned to answer her question, but Jade had already disappeared into the night. 

——✿❀✿——

Sylvando’s thoughts couldn’t help but linger on the princess, at least for a little while longer, as he made his return to the _Stallion_ docked east of Heliodor. He had been commending Jade beforehand for her naïveté and stubbornness, which almost endeared Sylvando to her in a protective, motherly sort of way, but the gravity of the situation he was about to throw himself into for her had begun to settle itself into the hole in his chest. Jade was the princess of Heliodor, one of the most powerful kingdoms on Erdrea, she could have had anything she wanted. But naturally she vied for the one thing her father, the only one whose power ranked above her own, denied her? A carefree life of luxury, a spoiled girl even, Sylvando thought to himself; how did that teach duty? He would never wish harm on the princess, of course. After all, was it so wrong to want to be with the woman she loved? 

He was about ten years her senior, maybe eleven or twelve at the most but… Goddess, had Sylvando ever done anything _that_ reckless when he was her age? Oh, who was he kidding? Of course he had. And what of her husband to be, Prins Hendrik, what was he like? Jade had made mention of his upmost commitment to seeing their marriage through, but had been forthcoming when she told Sylvando that she doubted Hendrik’s sincerity. Would he fight Sylvando to make his way back to her? Kick and scream, throw a tantrum at not having his way? That would be akin to most men he knew. It sounded like a headache just waiting in the wings. He dealt with enough sulking from his dear Erik, bless his heart.

Or maybe, if Sylvando was lucky, Prins Hendrik would merrily hop on to their boat and beg to be taken away, relieved at the chance of escaping his destiny. Sylvando could retire rich and comfortably, and settle somewhere on one of the islands lining the Costa Valor perhaps. Finding someone to settle down with, too, to share it all with? That would be a nice future. Indeed one far too nice for someone like Lady Bombastic, who earned his gold off of deals made in dimly lit alleys and seedy taverns. 

Maybe it would be easy. It never was, but by the princess’s influence, Sylvando allowed himself a little optimism. There was no harm in daydreaming now and then, as long as it didn’t distract him from his work.

Speaking of which, Sylvando announced his return to the _Stallion_ and her crew. “Dave! Erik! I have a job for you!” he sang, “The rest of you, too! Out here!”

One by one, his merry band of mercenaries all peeped their heads out from above the hull. Like happy little daisies, Sylvando thought to himself with giddiness. None looked too pleased at being woken up at such a late hour of the night, but hopefully their expressions would give way to a bit of cheer when he relayed their next job. 

“Oy, Sylv! I was up worried sick waitin’ for you!” Though it would have been impossible to tell while hiding under his pink leather mask, Dave had almost been beside himself with tears. He wrapped an arm around Sylvando in his desperate show of relief, and pulled his old friend close as one by one the others surrounded them.

“I knew you would be alright, Mr. Sylvando,” Meena was second to greet him, “The cards foretold of your safe return to us.”

Her sister, Maya groaned from her spot next to Meena. “ _Arey_ , little sister, you would let those cards tell you what to eat for breakfast if they could. I want to hear about the princess, is she really as beautiful as they say?”

“Did someone mention something about a beautiful princess?” Angelo was suddenly attentive. 

Sylvando brushed their comments all aside, his tone relaxed but authoritative, as if he were corralling school children instead of pirates. “Now, now, my darlings, keep it down. Princess Jade was certainly as intimidating and beautiful as the gossip proclaimed, though I could hardly see her in the dead of night. As for you, Angie, don’t get ahead of yourself, eh? Something tells me that she favors the fairer sex.”

Angelo swiped his long, white hair to the side. He hardly looked discouraged, and said, “Shouldn’t we all? I cannot hold that against her.” 

That lead to more speculation and gossip. Watching his crew talk loudly amongst themselves, bickering here and there, Sylvando could not help but crack open a smile. They all had their quirks, oddities, and were the castaways of regular society, not unlike himself, but they were all trustworthy and competent in their own way. Each and every one of them brought something different to his table, expanding his repertoire, and the mercenary could not have asked for a better crew to be by his side.

His second in command, Dave, and Sylvando shared a long, almost complicated history together. For a moment perhaps they would have been more than captain and quartermaster. Their _break up_ had for all intents and purposes been amicable, and now they remained side by side as greater allies than ever before. Sylvando had allowed his friend the grand opportunity of designing their sails; a blinding pastel pink. Though he did have an eye for flair, it certainly wouldn’t have been _his_ first choice. But Dave had insisted that a pirate as bold and unique as Sylvando called for a daring color to at least try to compliment him. There was no one else like him, Dave had said, so why not raise sails unlike any the ocean had ever seen before?

Among the rest of the crew were his twins, Meena and Maya. Two sisters from a small village south of Gallopolis. Before Sylvando had recruited them onto the Stallion, Meena and Maya made their coin through fortune telling and dancing, respectively. His Maya was a handful; an extravagant beauty with a fire burning within to match her passionate dancing on the outside, which was second to none. Meena on the other hand, was even-tempered, calm, more like a mother than a sister. Like the moon; elegant, glowing, with one side always mysteriously unreadable. They were opposites in everything aside from their appearance, as all twins seemed to be. Strangely, Sylvando saw bits of himself in both of them.

Then there was Angelo. His horrible little Angie, where to begin? Angelo was a former clergyman from a church some ways out from Gondolia, and now served as the resident surgeon and healer on the _Stallion_. Regardless of that calling, he was anything but nurturing, and preferred to spend his nights gambling and vying for the hand of any woman who had the misfortune of looking in his direction. Angelo was fussy, lazy, and indifferent to most things, but chivalrous and handsome, with a strange capacity to read others, which was likely the only reason Sylvando really kept him around. That and, Angelo somehow always stuck around despite his insistence that he would rather be anywhere else.

As for Erik, he was a bit of a… special case. Sylvando had taken a shine to the young man after Erik had attempted and failed to pickpocket the captain’s wallet from right under his nose. It might have been a weakness of his, but Sylvando had the inclination to take the disadvantaged under his wing; people like Erik with no other direction left to turn to, except down the path of thievery. Erik was… wait, Sylvando took pause; where _was_ Erik?

“Hey, Sylv.” Erik’s voice rang out, as if he had been with them the entire time and hadn’t just snuck past him and the rest of their group. In the cunning boy’s hand was the coin purse Princess Jade had given to Sylvando practically moments ago. He cursed himself… he would’ve been none the wiser if Erik wasn’t prone to gloating. “This is new. Whatcha got here?”

“Okay, okay, _cariño_ , give it back,” Sylvando held out his hand, impatiently, “if you little chatty kitties would just let me get a word in for once, I can explain everything.”

The years had certainly changed Erik. When Sylvando had first met him, he was just a tiny thing; scrawny and hungry, but eager to prove himself when presented with a second lease on life. My little porcupine was the pet name given to him. Small and cute (whether Erik agreed to that or not) with an edge. Several edges, actually, from every facet.

Being something of an adopted son to Sylvando afforded him a few luxuries. For instance, normally when one stole from Lady Bombastic, they didn’t get away with it without at least losing a finger or two. But Erik had perfected his craft since the first time he had tried stealing from his _Mama_ , and a part of Sylvando couldn’t help but feel decidedly prideful. 

“Explain why you were carrying around a fat sack like this without even…” Erik paused once he opened the purse, dumbstruck at what he found inside, “Sylv… holy _shit_ …”

Sylvando swiped the purse back. “Language, _mijo_ , or I’ll wash that mouth out with soap and seawater,” he scolded, before turning to address the others as well, “As I was trying to say, Princess Jade has given us a job. One she was nice enough to pay for upfront.”

“And just how many people does this princess girlie want you to kill?” Dave asked exasperated and a tad fearful. He had since taken the coin purse (Sylvando had allowed it) and now fingered through its contents, holding out a gold coin for inspection. One side was emblazoned with a two headed eagle; the symbol of Heliodor. “There’s gotta be at least half a million in here, Sylv!”

Above the gasps and exclamations of his crew, Sylvando thought it mindful to correct their assumptions. “No killing, Davie dear. I know you’re too pretty to get your hands dirty like that. This one is a little unconventional. Rather, _la princesa_ wants us too…” He waved his hand, thinking of the best words to spin his next phrase, “Escort her fiancé… onto our boat?”

“Escort her where?” Meena asked. 

“Just… oh, you know? Away from her? Forever?” He realized that sounded conspicuously like murder after all, and Sylvando quickly added “But only for a month!”

“Well if Princess Jade is so eager to toss away her fiancee,” Angelo brought an arm across his chest, as if already bowing to an imaginary damsel, “I will gladly volunteer myself to keep the other heartbroken princess company.”

“That’s very nice of you Angie darling,” Sylvando was pleased, knowing what would happen next, “But I should disclose that Prins Hendrik is a man, or so I’ve been told.”

Angelo paled, and his posture immediately straightened. “But I thought you said… Oh, I see. Then let Erik handle the prince. I have better things to do with my time, you know.”

“What?!” Erik whined at the suggestion.

“Enough, enough! As sweet as it is that both of you boys are so eager to help, that won’t be necessary!” Sarcasm laced Sylvando’s words. “The care and keeping of Prins Hendrik is a responsibility that goes to yours truly, but I _will_ need your kindly assistance in bringing him here. It just so happens that the Princess of Heliodor is throwing a party two nights from now, one that the prince and us all are invited to.”

Maya crossed her arms, looking no more pleased than the rest of them. “And just what will you have us do? You know that I don’t dance for free!”

Sylvando sighed deeply. These children… what did he even pay them for? He feigned hurt, “Maya, Maya, how many times have I told you all not to underestimate your mama, hmm? The Lady always takes care of her chickadees… as whiney as they are.” That last bit was uttered under his breath. “The coin Princess Jade has given me is just a wee taste of the full payment. The other half will be in Zwaardsrust; at the _Slagveld_ , when our deeds are done. Take about a quarter of that out for supplies, maintenance, and divide the rest by each of us? You get… Angie, what do we get?”

“One hundred and twenty five thousand gold, each.” Angelo replied.

Maya almost dropped to the floor but instead hugged Sylvando tightly around the shoulders and sprinkled small kisses upon his cheeks. “ _Arey_! Sylvie… Mami… have I ever mentioned how much I love you? Because I do! I really, _really_ do!”

“You could stand to bring it up a little more often. It warms my old heart to hear such things.” Sylvando smiled at them all, “So, I trust that everyone is in?”

A chorus of approvals filled his ears. The voices of Dave and all of his crew cheered, except of course for Meena, who stood ambivalently to the side despite even her sister’s prodding and enthusiasm. 

“I will do everything in my power to help, of course,” Meena started, “But the cards warn me; we’re all probably going to die. Are you certain this is what you want to do?”

“I’m afraid that’s the path we’ve chosen, my dear. Life as a hired sword is one that can be snuffed out at any moment,” Sylvando stroked her hair before calmly booping her nose with the tip of his finger. “We’ll just have to do our best. Don’t let me down, eh?”

She smiled at him, prettily yet half heartedly. That would do, he thought, for now.

”I just hope you know what you’re doing, ma,” Erik added pensively. 

“Mama always knows best, little porcupine. If that’s settled,” Sylvando turned and flourished, pointing to his dear old friend. “Dave! I’ll need your help picking out a dress! I want to look my best for the prince, after all.”

——✿❀✿——

_Prins Hendrik_ , a plant named in honor of the consort of Koningin Begonia, the first queen of Zwaardsrust. Though Hendrik was never a true prince of Zwaardsrust, having succumbed to war before his time, the flower named for him bears an elegant yet strong posture. Tall, gallant, with wide purple petals that gradually open into a star shape upon full bloom. Indeed, such a gesture would have made any knight into a king. And with his valor, Hendrik left behind a heroic legacy that would not soon be forgotten by any true blooded Drustian.

The flower has since become scarcer and elusive still in more recent times; not often coveted or planted anywhere in Zwaardsrust aside from the _Slagveld_. But for any adventurer who has been blessed enough to see the flower, especially to bask in the radiance of a completed bloom, it is quite the sight to behold. 

_Excerpt on Prins Hendrik_ , Drustian Flower Society

x

It had been months since his last trip to Heliodor. Hendrik should have been delighted, joyful, at the thought of returning to what had been a second home to him for practically his entire life. But a heaviness had seated itself deeply into the pit of his stomach, and weighed him down even now as he sat upon the back of his beloved Obsidian. 

In just a weeks time, he would be married. 

Hendrik did not think himself capable of love, and knew he would not be marrying for such a thing in all of his days yet to come. His wife to be, stubborn, hard-headed Jade, who he bore all manners of affection toward except those that should be provided by a husband, had made her lack of sentiment towards him known. And had done so far before Hendrik had himself accepted that he, too, did not love her in such a way, and she spoke of it openly even now. Everyone knew, actually, how much she opposed her own wedding, but that didn’t matter. No, there was a grander picture to be painted in time; it didn’t matter what Jade felt, or what Hendrik felt, or didn’t feel, so he decided simply not to. No feelings, no issue, no concern of his, not regarding this matter. He would be what was required, and nothing more. 

It was all easier said than done, and he fought away the nerves even now, when the dawn of his new life was fast approaching. Like a small flame, almost ready to burn his finger tips before engulfing him.

If he were to do this for anyone, it would not be for himself. But rather his father: Koning Larkspur, the King of Zwaardsrust, who lay now on his death bed, unable to even attend the wedding of his only son. 

Even now, Hendrik’s actions had been irremissible when faced with the death of his elder sister, Koningin Amaranth, shortly after her succession to the throne. At her untimely demise and with their father’s ailing health, Hendrik had to reconcile with the reality of being the next heir of Zwaardsrust; a possibility he never needed to consider, with the land already having had a more capable heir in Amaranth, who had been first in line. But that was no more, and he instead chose to flee, to explore Erdrea, to fight, anything to steer himself away from his true responsibilities. 

The time for that had certainly ended, as did Hendrik’s objections to his marriage, at the insistence of his father, with the news of his progressively worsening health finally reaching Hendrik while on campaign. Koning Larkspur did not have much time left, that time shortened further at having to again ascend the throne. Security in the arms of a kingdom like Heliodor did not often come so willingly. It would be a fair match, he said, for his son and for their country, in their time of great weakness. At the start of his journey to Heliodor, Hendrik knew that would likely be the last time he ever again saw his father among the living. 

Arriving at the inner gates leading to the entrance of Heliodor Castle, a voice jerked Hendrik away from his thoughts. 

“What is this nonsense? It seems they will allow anyone into the castle these days.” The voice held a sharp edge, and their yellow eyes, the color of warm honey, bore into Hendrik in what could only be scrutiny. 

“Who dares speak to me in such a way?” Hendrik’s own voice rang out, piercing and authoritative. His retainer, Kiryl, stood next to the prince nervously and upon the back of his own steed. 

“You have brought a fresh face. Here I thought Don Rodrigo would _want_ to guard his finest charge as the eve of his wedding fast approaches,” they ignored Hendrik’s question, and instead added, “It is certainly odd not to see him watchful at your side.”

Hendrik swung his legs over Obsidian’s saddle, seemingly indignant and ready to strike. In front, was none other than the general of Heliodor, and advisor to the crown. Hendrik’s oldest friend. 

“Jasper, you scoundrel,” he called out, storming over towards the onlooker. His booming voice took a lighter tone, laden with the hint of laughter trickling at the edge of his lips. “It has been far too long, let me take a look at you.”

“Indeed it has, my old friend,” Jasper stared up at the prince, his eyes still piercing, but their edges crinkled with a smile. 

Hendrik held the other man by the shoulders, an arm's length away in self-restraint, and shook him in good nature. To hold Jasper close, here at least, would seem too eager, too unbecoming. But his heart had ached for him far before his return, and Hendrik longed to see a familiar, comforting face; one that could only be discovered in the man standing in front of him. 

“As for Don Rodrigo, he could not escort me here at this time.” Hendrik spoke of his usual retainer, and his mentor since childhood. Despite his guard’s protest, Hendrik had insisted that Rodrigo remain by his father’s bedside, should the time come. “He had other business to attend to…” his words stiffened, “He…”

“Your father?” Jasper began the words Hendrik struggled to place. “I am sorry, my…”

“Y-yes,” Hendrik shook. His voice had suddenly become excruciatingly loud, as it was before when he spoke next. All trepidation wiped away. “Let us not speak of this sadness. Kiryl will handle the horses. I leave myself in your more than capable hands for the time being. Come with me, would you?” 

It was spoken as an order, like any other. But still Jasper searched his face for an understanding, and eventually found it in Hendrik’s pleading expression. 

“Very well,” he said, “Your Highness.”

It did not take long for them to find a room, one where they could, at last, be alone together. And no sooner had the door been locked behind them were Hendrik’s lips placed upon Jasper’s, in a desperate, all-consuming fervor of a kiss.

When Hendrik pulled back, Jasper grasped gently at the back of his head and lowered Hendrik closer to him yet again. With his mouth alone, he claimed the prince so fiercely that it sent pulsations and waves of lust surging through them both. 

Hendrik gasped a little at the other’s newfound strength, yet kissed Jasper deeper. Oh, how he ached for so much more in that moment. He wanted to have Jasper inside of him, underneath him, writhing in pleasure and excitement. He wanted to forget everything that had happened since last being with him, alone like this, and everything that was about to happen… but what he wanted simply could not be.

“Goddess…” Hendrik breathed out, his head heavy. “I can’t…”

“You can,” Jasper replied softly, readily, hands upon him and awaiting his permission to continue.

He could not. So Hendrik pulled away, frustrated with himself for denying his friend when he had been the one to initiate in the first place. Instead, he found himself seeking out Jasper’s eyes for empathy and forgiveness. To his endless relief, they had resided there since the beginning.

——✿❀✿——

After speaking with Lady Bombastic and securing his services, Jade made quick work in returning home from downtown Heliodor under the dark cover of disguise and night. No one had even realized she had been missing, except for Serena of course, and one other.

“My daughter arrives in the thick of midnight,” King Carnelian’s voice trailed as his daughter approached him, back turned, “How inconspicuous. I pray she is not plotting to embarrass her father yet again.”

Jade slanted her eyes, gaze focused. Of course, he would have something to say regarding her activities, anything that would get her to bite the metaphorical bait, but he always suddenly became quiet when it came to matters of the heart. He was honestly worse than Hendrik. Jade understood not what the difference was between her and her father, and challenged him again, “My marriage approaches... Tell me, father, does it bring back memories? To when you married mother? Did you love her?”

She knew that above all else, that Carnelian loved her mother. The late queen had passed right after the birth of their only daughter, and the king mourned her loss even now. It was a tender subject.

“Jade,” her father began, already angered and out of his seat as he was every time she asked him that same question, “It does not matter what I felt for her.”

“But you did feel for her!” she argued, resolute and neither of them willing to back down, “More than that! _You loved her_.”

“That changes nothing,” said Carnelian.

Jade had allowed herself one more chance to raise up her hopes, to think that somehow she could at last get through to her father. But he was stubborn as stone, impenetrable; like her in all ways as much as she hated to admit it. Yes, they were both stubborn, determined, and, whether her father liked it or not, they would _both_ marry for love.

Pleased and enraged at the same time, hidden underneath a quietly brewing storm, Jade backed down. “Indeed it doesn’t,” she said, finally, and turned her back to her father for what would be the last time, “Nothing changes. But that was the answer I needed. I hope you’ll be pleased; knowing that in securing a son, you have lost a daughter.”

With everything to gain, finally within her reach, there was no time left to lose.


	2. Moonlight Quartet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From far away, dolled up as an eccentric lady of the ballroom, Hendrik had found Rosa almost repulsive. But now, upon the bed? With his face close to hers, he gazed upon the color flushed on her cheeks from the wine, almost as pink as her name sake. She looked a little more normal now, more human. In Zwaardsrust, every change of season yielded farming festivals to celebrate their harvests. He wondered what Rosa would look like there, with the sun kissing her skin, flowers braided intricately into her blonde hair. Trapped in that fantasy, Hendrik might have even asked her to dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello everypony, welcome back. I finished this chapter super early, so I held onto it for a little while. My original plan is still to update about every two weeks to once a month... but when the muse hits... uwu 💖 Maybe I can finally get my life together and start a writing backlog. Unlikely. Anyways, Happy Hanukkah.
> 
> This week Lady Bombastic meets Prins Hendrik van de Langenberg. There is sexual tension, and drinking, and some more tension thrown in for good measure. And Erik goes for a swim.

Jade worried her immensely. It wasn’t often that people went out of their way for someone like Serena, and she never liked it when others made such a fuss over her. To her, Jade was perfect. Strong, opinionated; two qualities that made her very much unlike herself, in all ways. She couldn’t help but feel plain in comparison. Not to mention her Jade was extremely beautiful… and stubborn… but that went without saying. In all honestly, it was that same bottomless passion that endeared Serena to her time and time again.

But perhaps more importantly, despite whatever girlish daydreams or fantasies Serena kept close to her heart, Jade was above all the princess of Heliodor. A queen in the making, right before her eyes. She could hold the entire world in her hands should she so desire, but here she was… about to throw that all away. Like it amounted to nothing! All for a simple priestess like Serena? 

Sometimes, it failed to make sense, especially now on the eve of their departure. It could have been a dream for all she knew; one that Serena never wanted to wake up from, or a story from one of her silly books, but a dream all the same. 

There was still time, enough of it for Jade to marry Prins Hendrik and finally put this hardship behind her. Serena had met the prince a few times before, and he seemed adequate enough. He was handsome, solid, good with his horse. She knew that a hidden kindness lay underneath that stony exterior. Certainly, he and Jade would find something that they shared in common… eventually. They only had the rest of their lives.

Alas, if Jade went along with what others wanted her to do, then she simply wouldn’t be _her_ Jade. Though that would certainly spare the princess a lot of trouble, which she always seemed to get herself into no matter the situation… but it would not spare Serena from any heart break. This was the woman she loved, after all, and the thought of losing her was not an easy one. Yet still, the insecurity nagged at her, pounding at Serena over and over like the heart trapped within her ribcage.

This was what she wanted, she was sure of it.

“Serena,” Jade called to her, “There you are.”

“Oh! Jade…” Serena blushed, gaping at the princess in her chosen attire for tonight. A purple gown, billowing at her sides, paired with white gloves, hugging at her body gently. It was just enough for it to emphasize every well defined muscle in Jade’s arms and, oh… She could barely stand to look.

“You’re not still moping, are you?” Jade asked her, and Serena turned her head downward in defeat at having been caught so easily. “Of course you are… look at me, please.”

Serena did, though with a little hesitation shaking her normally calm, carefree countenance. Jade placed her hands upon her shoulders, warm and understanding, keeping her steady, and Serena felt safe within her grasp. 

“It’s all happening so fast… My sister is going to kill me when she finds out what we’ve done.”

“Allow me to handle Veronica,” the princess laughed. It was such a welcome sound. Then, her gaze carried a sharper edge as her grip tightened. “As for you… Just say the word, and we can forget this ever happened.”

At those words, Serena paled. For a moment, she could only stare blankly in response. 

“How could you even suggest such a thing?” She asked, suddenly more frightened and confused than she had ever been in her life. The fear of being deprived of Jade wrapped around her heart tightly like a vice, almost crushing it. Losing that useless organ would have been a better alternative to losing Jade. “You don’t really think I would give up so easily, do you? I know I’m not as strong as you are, but…” Her words trailed off, misplaced to worlds unknown.

Despite the tears that threatened to escape Serena’s eyes, Jade only smiled at her, and squeezed tighter.

“I want to ask you the very same, my love, every time you hesitate.” Jade replied, and Serena realized they were coming to an understanding. “Every time you need reassurance, I will be there for you, ready to give it. But please… know that I have never been more serious about anything in my life. No matter what happens, know that my answer will never change. Every time, I choose you.”

“Jade…” Serena breathed a sigh of relief. “You really scared me for a moment there… but thank you.”

“Come here,” Jade eased her into a hug. “I love you.”

“And I love you more… But everyone ought to be expecting you downstairs at any moment now, shouldn’t they? It is your party, after all.”

“You’ll wait up for me, won’t you?”

Serena kissed the back of the princess’s hand, delicately, just like the hero from one of her novels.

“Always,” she replied.

——✿❀✿——

For whatever his fiancée was plotting behind his back, Jade made a good display of her supposed innocence. One would have been none the wiser to the fact that their wedding was only but a few days away, as even though Jade found it more suitable to ignore Hendrik as she usually did during his visits, she acted perfectly composed. Not all like the fiery, disagreeable woman he had come to know and tolerate. She stood innocuously to the side, her back to Hendrik, chatting with one of her guests.

Jasper was in his ear, whispering and ever vigilant at his side where Hendrik needed him most. “Be wary, Your Highness,” he said. “There are rats among us.”

So it would seem… Hendrik looked toward the tall, gallant woman standing near the princess, practically staring her down. She was handsome, he observed, with fine eyes behind her ornate mask and blonde hair styled miraculously high above her forehead. Hendrik did not have the patience to follow fashion, let alone the frivolous styles of women, but such a display was enough to make even him want to raise an eyebrow. Even stranger still was the young charge next to the ridiculous woman. Blue hair, striking, even when compared to his own lavender.

Without turning to face Jasper, Hendrik whispered in return to his comrade, “Watch my back.”

Soon enough, the dancing began. There was nothing in this world that Hendrik hated more than dancing. It was going to be a long night… 

——✿❀✿——

Getting into the ballroom had been easy enough. Madame Rosa was a welcome guest of Princess Jade, after all, and their hostess had even offered her and her son, Eriçó, a guest-room in the castle to lie their weary heads down for the night once the festivities were all said and done. They wouldn’t be needing it, of course, but it was a nice gesture on the young lady’s part. As busy as she was, preparing for her wedding, and yet she still found the time to make every attendee feel welcome in her home.

Sylvando’s palms sweated and itched underneath his white satin gloves, no doubt the residue of nerves. Prins Hendrik was across from him on the other-side of the room, unbelievably tall even from so far away. Gone was the young boy Sylvando remembered, seated straight upon the back of his black steed, trying too hard to make himself appear large, kingly despite his youth and inexperience. No, that wasn’t necessary now, was it? 

To feel those eyes upon his visage, a shocking, cold blue? Sylvando thought it a very real possibility that Hendrik’s staring would burn a hole in his wig, and set him on fire at any moment. 

“Focus, Señora Rosa,” he uttered, snapping himself out of the spiraling staircase that was his own wandering mind. “You came here because you had a job to do. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Not too far from where Erik and Sylvando stood were Maya and Angelo. The former was basking in the attention of several wealthy looking noblemen. Spinning in circles, waving her arms, littered with golden bangles, Maya was indeed a pretty sight, and more than serviceable enough as a distraction. No doubt was Angelo enjoying himself, too, flirting with young, flustered ladies. As long as their gazes were fixated on the two of them, and not Señora Rosa, then all was well in this world.

He hadn’t realized that when he had taken this job from the princess, that his band of cunning, ruthless mercenaries had traded themselves in for a circus troupe. Yet here they were, their skills resorted to nothing but happy party tricks for drunk nobility.

“Has anyone ever told you that you are the most beautiful woman in all of Erdrea?” Angelo asked a blushing, doe eyed coquette of a girl.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Erik crossed his arms.

Sylvando waved him off with a delicate hand. “Save your spewing for someone else, these heels are vintage and I won’t have you ruin them… Hmm, maybe go vomit on that shrewd looking man over there.” 

Jasper had noticed him the very moment they walked in, which was fair, seeing as Sylvando had taken notice of him as well. It was almost flattering, in a dangerous way. Who wouldn’t notice a woman as beautiful as Rosa? 

The issue was, now, that Jasper wouldn’t stop staring, scrutinizing and calculating. A close friend to the prince perhaps? Or a bodyguard, more likely. Maybe he simply had fallen devastatingly in love with Señora Rosa? How charming! The man was not unfortunate looking by any means. Long blond hair, a pristine white coat; it could only spell out trouble for their plans. He was one to watch out for. Even now, he refused to leave Hendrik’s side. Which was going to be a problem—that was exactly where Sylvando needed to be.

As the mixer began, Erik and Sylvando separated, each seeking out their own dance partner. Obviously, now would be the most appropriate time for Señora Rosa to introduce herself to the charming prince. What better cover than asking Prins Hendrik for a dance? Surely, he wouldn’t turn away such a beautiful woman, it was within the spirit of celebration. If Sylvando could get a few drinks down Hendrik’s throat before inviting the man to his guest-room, that would be all the sweeter.

The first exchange of partners in their waltz brought him none other than Princess Jade, who winked.

“Do behave yourself now,” She smiled coyly.

The next exchange presented Jasper, but for as dashing and handsome as he was, the man did not make a very good dance partner. He was wound far too tightly, staring up at Sylvando akin to a cat hunting a mouse.

“Grant me the pleasure of warning you now. Whatever it is you are up to, wench, know that I will be the one to silence you once and for all.” Jasper seethed. Such an outrageously rude boy! A naughty thing! And by the Goddess… Sylvando was _charmed_. 

“And just how is it that you intend to do that, hmm? That’s no way to talk to a lady. If you want a kiss, darling,” the corners of Sylvando’s mouth brightened with a glimmering smile, “all you have to do is ask nicely and maybe I’ll think about it.”

“ _What_ —“ And with that Jasper was practically thrown back into the fray of dancers. A thorn in his side for sure, making threats like that out of thin air, but nothing more. He would need to be dealt with, however, before the pricking wound began to fester. If he was lucky, maybe Jasper would get to share a dance or an enlightening conversation with Erik or Angelo. Sylvando had no time for it. He had a bigger fish to catch.

Speaking of which… Suddenly, he all but bumped into the shoulder of Prins Hendrik, who was like an impenetrable wall of muscle that nearly shoved Sylvando to the ground in recoil. He was much bigger up close, much more so than Sylvando remembered.

“You certainly know how to garner someone’s attention, madame,” Hendrik spoke, with a deep utterance that sent vibrations climbing up Sylvando’s spine and left the hairs on his neck standing on edge. It was finally happening.

“Can you blame me? To dance with one such as Prins Hendrik van de Langenburg, celebrated son of Zwaardsrust, would be an honor only fools could pass up.” Sylvando batted thin lashes behind his mask. Naturally and regrettably predictable, it was embellished with a pink rose. 

For someone who from a distance seemed so stoic, tonight Hendrik was surprisingly eloquent. It was time to turn up the charm, of which Sylvando had in spades… Hopefully, Hendrik hadn’t just witnessed him tossing his friend across the room like a rotten Cobblestone pumpkin. Had that action been necessary? Obviously. The sure path to making a man weak in the knees? Unlikely… unless he was into that sort of thing. He wouldn’t judge.

“Oh? You seem to know so much about me, and yet here I stand like a fool knowing nothing of you. Tell me, are you a friend of Princess Jade? Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

“I am known as Madame Rosa.”

“We are well met, I am sure, _señorita_.” Oh! No one had addressed Sylvando as a young woman before, at least not in several years. Though it was a bit strange, to listen to Valorian pleasantries spoken so easily off of a Drustian tongue. He wondered idly what else that mouth was good for. “I assume you are here for the wedding?” Hendrik asked.

Among other things… “Yes, yes, of course, my dear, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. It sounds like a dream come true.” Sylvando boldly rested his arms over Hendrik’s shoulders, impossibly relaxed, swaying along to the rhythm of music. Though the sound was mere background noise when compared to the sonorous baritone of Hendrik’s voice. 

When the music cued another switch, Sylvando’s arms remained possessively over the other man. Like a desperate, love-struck harpy, not a hardened criminal. The act almost tripped up the unfortunate woman next to him, who exclaimed in alarm at Señora Rosa’s bold rudeness as she pushed her aside to continue holding the prince. Hendrik smiled, a lopsided curve of the lip, strangely endearing, and continued along with him in their waltz.

“Madame Rosa, we were supposed to exchange partners.”

“Maybe so… but is it so wrong of me to yearn for another dance? Everyone else will just have to wait a while longer for their turn at you.” 

“I suppose they must indeed. If I have your permission to be so bold, in all honesty I found myself harboring that same desire.”

His heart skipped a beat or two… and maybe several more after that... was it really working? Just like that? 

“Then how about we share a toast? The night is young, and there is still so much to be thankful for. The lovely princess, of course…” Wine, in ornate glasses, had since been placed in their hands. “And not to mention her enchanting little groom.”

“You do me a great kindness, Madame Rosa.” Hendrik clinked his cup against Sylvando’s own. “Here is to you as well, and to fast friends.”

“ _Salud, cariño_ ,” Sylvando smiled, and downed his glass.

——✿❀✿——

He hadn’t been joking when he’d said that he felt like puking. Erik really did want to spew his guts out. All across the marble floors, on top of Sylvando’s stupid vintage heels, over the balcony… it didn’t matter. But what did matter? He had to get outside, somehow, right away. This place was driving him insane, about to swallow Erik up in its madness.

To say that Erik felt out of place here was an understatement. He might have been dressed the part, his mother had made sure of that, with a dashing coat and a pair of horrendously high waisted pants, blue hair slicked back to look presentable and clean. He knew in truth that he only looked like a complete ass compared to everyone else. All of these nobles and ladies, princes and whatever... Not to mention, no matter how much you tried to smoothen him down, Erik would always be rough around the edges. One eye missing, with unruly hair that fought against the hold of expensive mousse that Angelo all but drowned his head in. He was wild, a little too much so. A nagging insecurity tugged at him, like puppet strings that couldn’t be cut with even the strongest blade. Erik could not control himself any longer.

Worse still was how at home Sylvando seemed, flirting about with the prince; their _paycheck_. It was a side to him that Erik had never seen before. The dancing, the toasts, the galavanting… he wanted to wash the vision out of his brain and get the heck out of here… even if he had to take Lady Bombastic and drag him back to the _Stallion_ by his fluffy petticoat. 

Of course, the logical part of him knew that it was just a clever act. They still had a job to do, after all, one that Erik was supposed to be helping with. But it was still unnerving somehow, how it almost came too naturally. There was a lot about his mother that he still didn’t know, simply didn’t ask—Sylvando understood that some things just shouldn’t be brought up between fellow drifters, and Erik wanted more than anything to grant him that same courtesy. To return the kindness bestowed upon him. But…

He’d seen enough, for now.

“Ange, I need some fresh air,” Erik shuddered and turned to his reluctant partner for the night, “I’m about to go crazy.”

“Do hurry back,” Angelo uttered. “Sylvando is certainly getting the prince riled up, but a man of such stature couldn’t be a light weight if you ask me. He’ll need your watchful eye.”

“Big… yeah… Just make yourself useful.”

The other man rolled his eyes. If he noticed Erik’s foul mood, Angelo made the decision to ignore it, and instead smoothened his gaze over to Jasper. 

“Not my type by any means, I’ll have you know, though I’m sure such a sour, miserable face could benefit from my charms one way or another.”

Whatever poor creature that would next fall victim to Angelo’s so called _charms_ , Erik didn’t want to stand around and watch. He’d seen livestock die a swifter death, not to mention much more mercifully. 

Now… where was he? Right, the puking. Just a minute to breathe, that was all he needed to clear his head, and then straight back to work. For once, Angelo did have a valid point: Sylv was still counting on him, regardless of what Erik was feeling.

❀

The docks stationed not too far from Heliodor provided a reprieve from the smothering aristocracy, and Erik could not feel more relieved. Whatever it was, the ocean, the resounding crash of waves, they made him feel safe, at home. To be trapped on land, with people? It was suffocating. Let him enjoy the quiet, at least for a little while, before he had to return.

In his depression, however, Erik’s thoughts couldn’t help but wander back to Sylvando. As a thief, a so called burden on society since the day he was born, Erik never had to pretend that he was anything less than undesirable. But concerning his mother: what was his story? Pray tell, just how different were they, after all? He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to know.

Looking out toward the waves, crashing beneath his feet hanging over the docks, something caught itself in Erik’s line of sight.

Glimmering in the moonlight, bobbing above the waves, was a _person_ cresting the surface of the ocean. The strange display earned his alarm. The docks were far too filthy, dangerous, certainly no place to take a pleasurable swim. Unless…

“H-hey… you alright over there? Do you need help?” He asked the figure, but received no response.

Only when the person sank beneath the water, never to return, did Erik shoot up from his seat and leap into the ocean after them. That was answer enough. He’d barely even thought to toss aside his stupid coat and fancy shoes, but was glad to be free of them once the cold water slapped against his skin.

Whoever this person was, they were taller and heavier than Erik was. But then again, most people were. He struggled to keep them both above the surface, choking on sea water and thinking with one last moment of clarity that he might die tonight all because he was over taken with some idiotic desire to be heroic. Before his final moments arrived, however, the mysterious figure gathered _him_ up in their arms and all but dragged him back to the docks. 

Coughing, Erik could barely hear the quiet voice next to him, whispering secretively to themselves, “Oh Goddess… I just caught a human… What do I do with it? Oh no… it’s looking at me! Say something!

“…Hello?” the mysterious boy said.

His savior stared at him, with wide blue eyes that shone impossibly in the moonlight. Erik stared right back, and he couldn’t help but finally notice the scale laden tail and translucent fins that rested where a pair of legs should have been. The scales were a deep purple, with dark golden hues at their edges that almost matched the boy’s long hair. Even soaking wet, his brown hair was pristine, flowing about his bare shoulders, somehow not even tangled from their excursion—whereas Erik himself looked like a half drowned mutt.

 _A mermaid_? A merman… more likely. Whatever he was, it didn’t matter, because he was the most beautiful thing Erik had ever seen.

“…Hello? I believe that is the customary greeting between the humans of this region!” The boy prattled on nervously when Erik didn’t respond. “Hello? Can you hear me?”

Oh Goddess… what was he even supposed to say? _I tried to save your life but you, a complete stranger, ended up saving me instead? Gee, thanks a lot! By the way, I couldn’t help but notice that you’re part fish! Fancy that!_

“Uhh… hey?” Erik replied instead, coughing up more salt water.

“You _do_ understand me!” The merman replied. He extended out his right hand in an enthusiastic greeting, to which Erik shook reluctantly, noticing how it jingled. “I’ve never seen a human so up close before! And now here I am actually talking to one! You have to tell me, human, are you the prince of this land? Do you reside over in the castle there?” Questions kept spilling out, one after another.

His arms and torso were littered with golden chains, trinkets, and pendants of all sizes. A fan of gold, was he? That was something he and Erik had in common. He supposed it made sense… gold was one of the only goods that didn’t tarnish in salt water or air. Who knew how much of it littered the ocean floor?

“P-prince? No… not me, slow down for a second, would you? Let’s start with names.” Erik massaged his brow. Maybe he had hit his head during the dive?

“Right, of course!” The merman stammered. “My name is Eleven, and you are?”

“I’m Eriçó… I mean—!” He blushed. “Ugh, the name’s Erik, actually. So… Eleven… do you always take midnight swims near the docks?”

Eleven didn’t seem to notice his sarcasm, and continued prattling on without a care in the world. It was… adorable. “I do! I always find so many interesting things tossed from your floating homes.” He gestured to the pouch tied around his waist that Erik hadn’t noticed until just now.

“Interesting things? Like what?” Erik asked.

“Well… I found _you_ , didn’t I?” Eleven replied innocently, before he hunched his shoulders and his voice took on a scared, frenzied tone. “Someone didn’t throw you away, did they?”

“What? No! I thought you were drowning!” Erik realized now how ridiculous an explanation that must have seemed to Eleven. A merman? Drowning? But it wasn’t Erik’s fault—he hadn’t known! How could he? “But look, you _are_ hurt. You’re bleeding.” He pulled Eleven’s arm towards him, and sure enough specks of blood were painted against his wet skin, like constellations in the sky. It was nothing, really, but these waters were unsavory and filthy and Erik feared his new friend becoming ill with infection.

Eleven seemed surprised. “Oh, would you look at that? I am! I must have scratched it against a rock or something.”

“A rock or something, he says…” Erik fumbled around for something to cover up the scratch with, and found the red sash that had been wrapped around his waist for the evening by Sylvando. Better than nothing—wait, Sylvando! “Shit…” he cursed himself, urgency rising up in his throat, “Listen, Eleven, I have somewhere I really need to be! Let me take you back to our boat, and I can get that cleaned for you. It’s the least I could do.”

“A human boat, really? You’ll take me there? Oh, Erik, how could I ever repay you?”

“Uhh… just don’t mention it, to anyone?” Erik asked nervously. He scooped Eleven up in his arms, nearly falling over, and whisked him away hurriedly. What Sylvando didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, right? He’d brought worse things onto the _Stallion_. What harm was there in bringing along a curious, injured mermaid? 

——✿❀✿——

As it turned out, getting Prins Hendrik van de Langenberg _drunk_ was a terrible idea.

Sylvando had all but poured glasses of wine, champagne, whatever he could get his pretty hands on, down Hendrik’s throat. He found every excuse he could to fill up another glass, make another toast. If the the prince was in any way suspicious of his motives, he didn’t show it. Nor did he notice when Madame Rosa put her own glasses to the side, or tossed them into a nearby decorative plant. And if he did notice, the alcohol would soon wipe the thought clear from his mind in favor of some other stupid, frivolous thing. 

The alcohol had other effects, certainly. Like reducing the once composed royal into a stumbling mess. He slung his arms around Madame Rosa, laughed way too loudly at her jokes, and even went so far as to step on her feet while they danced together. It was almost like he was doing it on purpose, and Sylvando had to bite his tongue and hold down the urge to slap him silly for acting so ridiculous. Where had his pride gone, for Goddess’ sake! No wonder Princess Jade wanted to get rid of him.

Either way, as loud and annoying as Hendrik was, he was almost exactly where Sylvando wanted him. Unaware of himself, a complete fool, and it would be all too easy to manipulate a fool.

As another song ended, Hendrik spoke. He wasn’t even looking at Señora Rosa, and only stared blankly behind her, as if he couldn’t focus. “That was wonderful, my lady. What say you to another round?” He slurred. 

Sylvando steadied him. “I think you’ve had enough, _cariño_ , how about we go rest somewhere a little more… quieter?” 

“But alas, I cannot! For all of this dancing has made me feel so invigorated!” Hendrik rebuffed him. “How about we spar? Go on, have at me! I will allow the beautiful madame to take the first swing!”

He wanted nothing more than to give Prins Hendrik a hearty slap across his handsome, flushed face, so the idea did sound almost unavoidably tempting… but that would have to wait. Handsome he was still, indeed, with his lavender hair pulled to the side in Drustian-styled plaits.

Madame Rosa had to be patient. “Oh, alright. Your enthusiasm has convinced me, darling. Let’s take this outside. It would be rude to cause a scene.”

He grabbed Hendrik and led him away by the arm, like a proper gentleman… or a disappointed mother escorting their drunk toddler. They passed by Maya, who herself seemed quite enamored with Hendrik’s retainer; a young man standing alert (but not enough) by the door as she spoke with him. They continued onward, slipping away from the ballroom unnoticed. Madame Rosa was unfamiliar with the castle walls; it wouldn’t be her fault if they took a wrong turn somewhere along the way to their destination. But her own guest-chambers, however, were just a few halls down.

——✿❀✿——

There were rats among them, he had told the prince, and as usual, Jasper’s insight had been astoundingly on the mark. They were everywhere, an infestation.

It wasn’t even as if Madame Rosa was trying to keep a low profile. The nefarious looking woman had been more than easy enough to spot, garnering all sorts of attention in her atrocious get up and wretched up-do. He knew _exactly_ who she was. 

Her identity was no mystery, but what she wanted? That still remained to be seen. Jasper would find out in time and seek justice accordingly… His drive had nothing to do with the fact that she had clung to Hendrik’s side the entire night like a desperate vamp. Though it certainly didn’t help his mood. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you are the most beautiful man in all of Erdrea?” A voice asked Jasper.

Suddenly in front of him was a young man, with silver hair and egotistical eyes. Not to mention an arrogant face that incited a noble desire to unleash violence, so much so that Jasper almost set upon him with rage in that same instance. He must have been a friend of Madame Rosa, he was sure of it. And presumptuous he was, so much so, to assume that Jasper wanted to have a conversation with one such as he.

“I have been told many times, I can assure you.” Jasper replied, not sparing another glance at Angelo.

“Is that so?” His newfound suitor was not discouraged. “Then tell me, what _is_ something you would like to hear?”

He was insufferable, and Jasper was about to tell him exactly what was on his mind, but then another man ran past them both like the room had been set ablaze. He was certainly a sight, and undignified; wearing no shoes, no coat, water dripping from his blue hair. They really did let just anyone stroll into this castle, didn’t they?

A revelation occurred. Blue hair… where had he seen blue hair before? Madame Rosa had brought a blue haired boy to the castle. Her son, or so she would have them all believe.

Whoever he was, Jasper would find out. 

“Out of my way, coxcomb,” he pushed Angelo aside. He had to alert Hendrik, immediately, he had to—and he was gone. _Hendrik was gone_. And to Jasper’s unending delight, Madame Rosa was nowhere to be seen. How convenient. His eyebrow twitched at having been duped, fooled, but the game was not over yet. No, it had only just begun.

Following the trail of water on the floor, Jasper pushed past the rest of the crowd, past Princess Jade, and made chase after the boy.

“Poor thing had to flee just to resist the urge to throw himself at me,” Angelo watched and took another sip of his wine. He wasn’t at all offended by Jasper’s dismissal. “I cannot blame him.”

——✿❀✿——

Perhaps all of the wine was getting to Hendrik, after all, for a traitorous part of him coveted her. Rosa had dragged him to a bedroom, her motives unclear. And mysteriously Hendrik had allowed it. Why? She was for some reason a strange, familiar presence. Like an old friend, lost to the recesses of time. 

From far away, dolled up as an eccentric lady of the ballroom, Hendrik had found Rosa almost repulsive. But now, upon the bed? With his face close to hers, he gazed upon the color flushed on her cheeks from the wine, almost as pink as her name sake. She looked a little more normal now, more human. In Zwaardsrust, every change of season yielded farming festivals to celebrate their harvests. He wondered what Rosa would look like there, with the sun kissing her skin, flowers braided intricately into her blonde hair. Trapped in that fantasy, Hendrik might have even asked her to dance.

His breath was hot and heavy at her neck. He leaned on her, desperately and tantalizingly close, arms stretched out. As if he would fall upon her at any moment, pressing his lips to her skin and capturing her with his mouth. But he would not, for it was all only pretend, only to tease, to secure. 

Hendrik must continue to play the part of the repressed, drunken nobleman. Saddened as he was, about to enter a marriage where he was unloved, and unwanted. To drown his sorrows in alcohol and beautiful strangers? That could be his only release. 

Madame Rosa seemed nervous, and when her gaze was not upon Hendrik, she kept stealing furtive glances to the doors, windows, as if she meant to make an escape. But Hendrik would not allow it. He had her exactly where he wanted her.

Boldly, he pulled her face towards his. He could see her fine eyes still, even in his slight drunken daze. They looked at him in anticipation, with a tad of, what was it? Excitement? He had drank heavily from her offering hands, and though he was a little tipsy, Hendrik was by no means inebriated. He stood six and a half feet tall and weighed over two hundred pounds; it would take much more than a few rounds of fruity drinks to bring him down. Though he did feel a bit sleepy… A nap then, after this was dealt with.

Regardless, he played the part of the drunken fool quite well, didn’t he? He liked to think so. It was all his clever Jasper’s idea, from the very beginning. 

His elaborate ruse continued itself. “I cannot bear it any longer, my lady. Do you believe in destiny? In love at first sight? I find myself growing sentimental every passing day, as the eve of my wedding approaches! The princess… she… I do not love her. She is but a sister to me. I cannot, no, I will not marry a woman I feel nothing for!”

Her own hands rose up to meet his, and pulled them down sternly. A surprising strength. “Hend—“

“But you, my rose,” Hendrik gave her no room to speak. “ _You_... I feel everything for.” 

He continued, and made to remove her mask. “Allow me to see your face, please… if you denounce my feelings, so be it, but at least grant me the privilege of just one glance before you do.”

Strangely, despite the conflict so widely apparent on her visage, she allowed him to untie the strings keeping her mask in place. His fingers somewhat fumbled over the knots, his mind slowing as Rosa’s face revealed itself to him.

“There you are,” Hendrik relished at the sight. He was so close, he could almost taste the wine that had been on Rosa’s lips… “I have you now…”

Immediately, his hands moved to wrap around Rosa’s throat, cutting off her air. Alarm overtook her, while she struggled to remove his hands, pry under his fingers; anything to get the prince away. In her struggle, she had started smacking Hendrik in the face with scrambling, useless hands. A desperate attempt to cling on to life, but nothing more. Hendrik wouldn’t kill her. Though the skirmish did send his own mask sailing across the room.

“What—what are you doing!” She cried between shallow breaths, but Hendrik would not allow himself to be swayed by the pain painting her expression. For her crimes, for her treachery, she deserved a much grimmer fate than the one Hendrik could provide. She was bold to show herself here, in his domain, where Hendrik was strong and others were weak. To think, she thought a mere disguise could fool them?

“I know exactly who you are,” his lips pursed in anger, while he glared down his nose at her. “Lady Bombastic,” Hendrik practically sang, “ _La Rosa del Mar_. When I release you, you will tell me exactly why you are here. Do you mean to hurt me? Hurt the princess?” A reminder of Jade possibly being in harm’s way only enraged Hendrik further. 

He pinned her down, between his legs, so that even when he removed himself from her throat, Lady Bombastic still could not make a cunning escape. 

She sputtered and choked, taking in air like her life depended on it, and tried to play Hendrik for a fool. “I don’t—!” She coughed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Liar!” Hendrik screamed. “You will answer for this!” 

The door burst open, and at the entrance was the blue haired boy Hendrik had seen at Lady Bombastic’s side earlier this evening. Of course, she had friends.

“Sylv—get off of him!” Hendrik could barely make out the words over the chaos that had blown up the room. The boy made a move to apprehend Hendrik, a useless endeavor—he would easily knock the other flat onto his back, but Lady stopped him with her next words.

“Erik! My purse!” She cried, and that halted Hendrik, too, in his tracks. Of all of the times—what would she need with a bloody _purse_?

He had no further moment to contemplate the mysteries of the universe, when what could have only been a _rock_ crashed into the back of Hendrik’s head. He lurched forward, crying out in pain, falling onto Lady Bombastic before she pushed him onto the floor. He was slipping—no! She couldn’t get away!

Hendrik fell into a heap, face first, his hair splayed out unraveled before him. His own useless arms tried vainly to lift himself off the ground. The first hit wasn’t enough to knock him unconscious, but a second one swiftly came and ensured that he was out cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess you could say that... Sylvando just... ROCKED Hendrik’s world.


	3. Wipe Them Away, The Stars in Your Gaze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a moment, regrettable as it was, he thought that there might have been something more to Hendrik. When he had spoken last night of loving someone else, of following his heart and of love at first sight, Sylvando had believed him. Even if his confession wasn’t truly about Madame Rosa, surely Hendrik must have felt something for someone for words like that to spill so earnestly off his tongue. But the prince was empty after all, and the meaningless life he led even more so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi everyone. Welcome back! This week: Hendrik takes a nap, Sylvando meets Erik’s new pet fish, and the little Flower Prince finally speaks with the Pirate King... and it goes just about as well as you would expect. ;)

Once there was a Heliodorian husband and wife, who had together nine children. To feed his family, the husband would go to the river and catch fish. Every day he went, and Cuauhtli, the Two-Headed Eagle who watched over the river, would provide for him eleven fish. One for each of their children, and one each for husband and wife.

One day, the husband said, “Two-Headed Eagle, how can any man survive on a single fish? If one of my children should happen to die, then I would be able to eat two fish. As it is, all I ever get is one.” He repeated this prayer so often that eventually the Goddess yielded, and one of the children died. 

The husband was pleased that he would now have two of the eleven fish for himself. But when he went to the river the next day, he received only ten fish. The Two-Headed Eagle would not grant him another. So he said, “When there were eleven of us, I caught eleven fish, and now that we are but ten, I catch only ten fish. What is the meaning of this?”

The Two-Headed Eagle replied, “It does not matter how many children there are in a family, She provides for them all.”

_Folktales from Across Erdrea_

︵‿︵‿୨✿❀✿୧‿︵‿︵

**S Y L V A N D O**

Sylvando all but clawed his way out from underneath Hendrik’s hulking, limp frame, as it fell bodily upon him and then to the floor in a mess of tangled limbs. Aside from his initial cry of pain and alarm, the prince didn’t utter another sound, and now lay completely, unnervingly still.

Shocked and shaken, Sylvando turned to Erik. “L-lock the door!” He yelled, almost hysterical as he stared down at Hendrik in terror. A paranoid part of him feared that the prince would somehow rise from the dead at any moment, and haul them both down to the underworld where they belonged. “Lock it now! _Lock the door_!” 

Erik did so, with quivering hands fumbling over the locks, and when the deed was done he pressed his back against the double doors breathlessly. The next few moments felt endless, absolutely silent, before Erik grasped his mother by the hand and pulled him back to his feet. 

“Is he… is he dead?” Erik asked, his eye gesturing to Hendrik.

“Of course he isn’t, you just knocked him out good. That’s all.” Sylvando said, despite his earlier fears. Now, more than anything he simply wanted to drag the boy into a desperate hug, if only to calm his own nerves. Instead, he again observed Hendrik’s unmoving form, contempt boiling over in the pit of stomach. Not dead, for sure, and hopefully not concussed. If neither of those things, Hendrik was still an asshole. “Damn it… that was way too close. Who would have expected that the Prince of Zwaardsrust was such a phenomenal actor…”

Sylvando certainly hadn’t expected it, and as a result he had almost died. Just like that! His blonde wig was torn from his head, and thrown to the floor where it was quickly forgotten. Blasted, stupid thing it was. Besides… it wasn’t like he needed it anymore. They had another problem on their hands. 

“Definitely much better than he looks.” Sylvando leaned in close, and uttered a whisper in Hendrik’s unhearing ears. “…But I win!”

“No, _I_ win. You’re welcome, by the way, for saving your dumb skin.” Erik rolled his eye, and observed the purse still hanging on his arm. It had been quite the sight, smacking it over the prince’s head like that, like their lives depended on it. Technically it had. Erik hadn’t a moment back then to register how ridiculous it must have looked, but now he did. “What do you keep in this thing anyway? A brick?” To his shock, a brick was exactly what he found.

“A lady always comes prepared, darling.” Sylvando replied. Ironic, he knew, given that he and Madame Rosa had been far, far from prepared for… whatever just happened between them and Prins Hendrik. Regardless, the brick had certainly come in handy. Though it was unfortunate, to say the least, that his Erik had stolen Princess Jade’s one permissible hit over the head. That it was two hits, actually, would be a little secret between mother and son.

A frantic rapping resounded at the door, snapping both Sylvando and Erik away from their morbidly light hearted conversation. The knocking only grew louder, and an anguished, despairing voice all but cried out from the other side.

“Hendrik! Are you in there?” The voice called out, and it did not take long to figure out that behind the door was none other than their dear, precious Jasper. Sniffed out their trail, had he? He wasn’t done yet, and called for the prince once again, “It’s me! Open this door right now or so help me! Hendrik! … _Hendrik_!”

Sylvando had to stop himself from filling the air with his jabs. “His majesty can’t come to the door right now, but I’ll be more than happy to let him know you stopped by,” was what he wanted to say, teasingly, and that petty victory would have filled his devilish heart with a sinful glee.

The less that Jasper knew, the better for their escape. So, his tongue would be still… for now.

That pleading, however, almost made Sylvando feel bad for what they were about to do, and for what had already been accomplished. For all of the rudeness and hatred that practically dripped off of the man, it seemed that Jasper cared for their catch quite a bit, if the increasing desperation in his tone was anything to go by. But ultimately he had failed to protect Hendrik when he was needed most of all. 

If Lady Bombastic did not have the general’s upmost contempt beforehand? Well, it was all his now. To earn the ire of such a beautiful man… Sylvando would wear it like a badge of honor. 

They had to leave, now. It was unlikely that the impatient, love stricken Jasper would wait much longer for an answer that wasn’t going to come. 

“That’s our cue to exit the stage, my darling,” Sylvando pulled Hendrik’s right arm over his shoulders, and asked Erik, “Make yourself useful and help me carry him, would you?”

Asking Erik where his coat and shoes for the evening had run off to would likely be his next question, but it would have to wait.

If everyone was where they were needed and plans hadn’t gone astray, then Angelo and Maya should be right outside their window, ready and willing to assist with their grand escape. Though with this evening’s wonderful display of good luck, there was a very realistic chance that they were all done for, especially when the locked doors suddenly burst open.

Mercifully, it was only Princess Jade. Thank the Goddess for such a welcome sight. Sylvando could have kissed her, as relieved as he was, were he not sure that such an act would only leave him worse off than where he already was.

She looked to them, and then between them to helpless Hendrik, who was slung over their shoulders like a heavy bag of wheat.

“Good work,” Jade deadpanned, “You’ve killed him.”

“ _Not dead!_ ” Sylvando sang, his irritation almost bubbling over as he struggled under the prince’s weight even with Erik’s help. He had so much more to say, surely, to ask her, but had no time for it. “Jasper?” Was all that tumbled from his lips.

“I’ve sent him the other way, on a cold trail.” Jade explained. “But that’s all it is. He will be back soon, so you can thank me later. I’m sure you have other places to be.”

They were halfway out the window, when Sylvando waved off to her and replied, “Yes, yes, you’re an absolute peach. A queen! We should really get together more often. _Ciao bella!_ For now!”

Lady Bombastic would see the Princess of Heliodor again, rest assured. In only a few weeks time, miles and stretches of land far, far away from here, when it was finally time to collect the rest of their payment. She would not be a princess then, but a nameless woman on the run with her true love.

He had Hendrik in his clutches, now. So it would all be smooth sailing from here on out… or so Sylvando hoped. How much trouble could one little prince, so alone in this cruel world, really be? Whatever happened next, Lady Bombastic would not be taken off guard by him, never again.

There was no time to await a reply from the young princess. So he missed when Jade locked the window behind them, carefully, and watched them sail out on the _Stallion_ into the horizon. If Jasper hadn’t let fear cloud his normally undefeated judgement, she was sure he would have ordered all of the docks closed as soon as he had noticed Hendrik’s disappearance.

“My fiancé is not going to be happy when he wakes up,” She said to herself, and was glad for the realization that such things would no longer be a problem that fell on her shoulders.

︵‿︵‿୨✿❀✿୧‿︵‿︵

**H E N D R I K**

The in between of consciousness began to fade away, and a painful light reflecting off of four walls came into a dreaded focus. But that was the only thing Hendrik could see, beyond a few scattered, faceless figures that loomed over head. What did they want? And what would they do with him?

Those were a few of the questions that would have been asked, were he actually coherent, but instead of words the only things that came tumbling haplessly from his lips were moans and slurred speech, completely unrecognizable and without any meaning. He did make a valiant effort to sit up, which served to surprise whoever was standing above him. They set into motion at holding back his arms, to pin him down. Not that his own body wasn’t already working against him; Hendrik’s head felt throbbing, weightless, as if it were no longer attached, but everything else was made of stone.

It was easier to admit now that he was unaware, but Hendrik was frightened. To feel nothing and everything at once, unable to move, unable to do anything? There were voices in his head. A quiet one that advised to stay put, but it was drowned out by much louder ones demanding that he run away before it was too late. It was all too much, and the merciless attack on his senses did nothing to help the drumming behind his eyes.

He would demand that the voices be silent. His efforts were for naught of course, and Hendrik could only try vainly to get away from them. The voices, the shadows; he couldn’t fight them. Like a trapped animal, and as words still failed, he all but roared in the faces of whoever was keeping him here.

A wet rag was placed against his mouth and roughly held there, to quiet him once and for all. His roars dulled to whimpers. Instead of loud noises and bright lights, he was overwhelmed with the sensation of sticky sweetness, clinging to his nose and drowning out the empty spaces inside of his lungs until breathing became too daring of an effort.

Minutes dragged by, so slow that it felt like Hendrik lived and died a thousand different lives, and the only thing he could do to finally placate his never ending fears was to simply close his eyes and embrace the darkness that crept along the confides of his fading vision. But before he did so, surrendering, a distinct figure made itself known. A brief moment of clarity between moments of chaos.

Suddenly, a name slipped past his lips. 

“ _Norberto_?” Hendrik called out, shifting as he fell asleep, but the words felt heavy and useless dripping from his swollen tongue.

︵‿︵‿୨✿❀✿୧‿︵‿︵

**E R I K**

When things finally settled, Erik snuck away to his bedroom. It had been hours since he met his new, peculiar friend, and hours again between now and the last time he saw Eleven. Even at night, there was an odd quality surrounding the boy that almost made him glow, sparkle, whether it was his long hair or colorful tail. Vaguely, Erik wondered with a touch of childlike infatuation what his friend might look like during the day, when under the warm caress of sunlight. Would he be just as beautiful? Erik didn’t think his fluttering heart could handle the answer.

He hadn’t slept all night, far too occupied with the disaster that was Sylvando and the prince… but that wasn’t his problem anymore. He wanted to settle down for a good late morning nap more than anything. After checking in on Eleven of course…

“Hey, El? It’s just me.” The door slowly creaked open, the wood worn and old under his hands, as Erik entered his humble quarters. Despite the other’s adorable curiosity about… everything, he advised the merman to keep a low profile until his return. Honestly, it had been a miracle unto itself that Erik had managed to sneak Eleven past Dave and Meena. “Eleven?”

It should have been easy to spot him. After all, Erik had situated Eleven in a wooden tub. It was good enough for washing away the grime and sweat built up from sailing across the ocean, but not quite big enough to fully submerge oneself… let alone someone with a long, scaled tail. But Eleven’s arms and fins weren’t peaking over the wash basin, water seeping through the top as he shifted around, like where Erik had left him. A newfound urgency pounded at his ribcage. 

Eleven wouldn’t have just up and left without saying goodbye, would he? Perhaps a pirate ship wasn’t as exciting as he had originally hoped, so he turned tail and fled while Erik was away, taking Erik’s heart with him back to the bottom of the sea. No, that sounded ridiculous. How would he have escaped? 

Desperate, Erik placed his hands around the rim of the wash tub, and his eye scanned through the shallow water beneath. “Eleven! Where are you, man?” Sure enough, he eventually found his friend and his answer, but the sight ahead of him only left Erik with more questions.

Erik picked up a fat little fish, holding the creature out by an arm’s length. Something in his chest just knew that the fish was his friend… it was too obvious. From the purple scales to the bag still hanging across his chest… or whatever the equivalent of a fish’s chest was. Erik didn’t know. He was no expert on fish, or strangely magical, beautiful mermen who could for some stranger reason turn into them, but that was already apparent. 

“What happened to you?” Erik asked, but Eleven only flailed around in reply. “Oh, right. My bad.” Soon after, the fish was placed gently back into the water, and Eleven swam around in a grateful circle before returning to a more familiar shape.

“It was so crowded in there, I couldn’t help myself.” Eleven said, too mischievously to be apologetic, but he looked a little bashful anyway. “Did I scare you?”

“ _Scared_ is a word some people might use,” But not Erik. He hadn’t been scared. Nope, not one bit.

“It’s a neat party trick, if anything. My mother taught it to me,” Eleven explained. 

They barely had a chance to speak, without urgency at least, as Erik had ran straight back to the ballroom in Heliodor as soon he had had finished cleaning out Eleven’s negligible scratches. So they did finally have a few peaceful moments together. They went over their plans, what the sails did in the wind, and all of the stupid things Eleven carried around in his bag. Erik failed to mention any princes, though, or knocking any over the head with a brick.

It was a nice change of pace, seeing how frantic the entire night had been.

Erik could feel himself growing relaxed in Eleven’s presence. Strange, as it wasn’t like the novelty of encountering a merman had suddenly worn off. It wasn’t boredom, or tiredness, but something else. Something he couldn’t quite place.

Just as quickly as tranquility had settled, Erik’s shoulders tensed again when knuckles pounded against the door and Sylvando popped in.

“I thought I told you to knock!” Erik snapped.

“I did knock, _querido_ ,” Sylvando quipped back, looking exhausted yet pleased. “But it’s still my boat, and your mama will go wherever he wants. Anyway, I need a place to sleep. Prins Hendrik is drugged out of his mind on painkillers in my quarters, chained to my bed, and as thrilling as that may sound to _some_ men I certainly want nothing to do with that brute. So you’ll be nice enough to let me rest in here for awhile, right? Of course you will. It’ll be like when you were thirteen, remember? You had to sleep with me because you were too scared of the dark!” He sighed fondly in remembrance. “You were so cute and innocent back then. Whatever happened to my little porcupine…”

“He met you, that’s what happened. Poor kid never saw it coming.”

“Oh don’t you take that tone with me young man. I’ve dealt with enough attitude for one day. Can’t you just let an old, withering husk of a man relive the past without being such a…”

Their captain had a habit of rambling whenever he was about ready to drop. Sylvando hadn’t even noticed Eleven yet, until he did. To Erik, it almost unraveled in slow motion; when their eyes connected and everything finally clicked into place. _Shit_.

“Hello!” Eleven waved.

“Hello, little mermaid.” Sylvando replied kindly, before his eyes whipped back to Erik like a deadly whirlpool ready to drag his son under. A practiced smile was still upon his face when he next asked, “Say, Erik, sweetheart, who’s your friend… and why haven’t you introduced us?” He knew exactly why, damn him. 

“Oh? Did I forget to do that?” Erik would have winked, but somehow he always came up short of doing so. “Sylvando, this is Eleven. Merman. Eleven, this is the captain, Sylvando. Human... Or so he says. I’m still debating whether that’s true or not.”

His mother’s eyes crinkled, a crack in his facade. “Charmed, I’m sure,” he said. “Aren’t you just the cutest thing the ocean has ever washed up? Pray tell, dear, where did you come from, and why has my stupid son brought you on board my ship?”

Eleven only beamed. “You’re the pilot of this beast!” A revelation. “You must tell me how you have formed a bond of trust with it enough for it to allow you all safe passage upon its back. And your son is a hero! He saved me from dolphins.”

It was a lie, but Erik appreciated it nonetheless.

“Dolphins?” Sylvando stared.

“Yes,” Eleven nodded, “They seem cute, all right, but don’t make the same mistake I did. They’re actually quite rude!”

“Looks can be deceiving, I suppose.” Sylvando had seen enough, and turned to Erik expectantly. “Eleven, dear, if you don’t mind my rudeness, your friend and I need to have a nice little chat. Would you excuse us a moment?”

He awaited no answer, but Eleven only blinked in surprise. Erik was pulled by the ear out the door and already leaned against the wall, arms crossed, as he anticipated one of Lady Bombastic’s infamous tongue lashings. 

“What is wrong with you? Do you have any idea what you’re doing? Of all things! _A mermaid_ , Erik, really?”

Erik sighed, “I have it handled, ma.” He was almost twenty years old, and somehow Sylvando still insisted on scolding him like a child. As if he had all of the answers!

“You clearly don’t, _cariño_!” Sylvando nearly split in two. “This isn’t just another straggler we’ve picked up off the road somewhere, or some stray seagull you’ve brought on my ship to nurse back to health! This… this is crazy! That’s what it is!”

“And what’s the difference between bringing a prince and a merman on board, exactly? At least Eleven is happy to be here, unlike your drunk boyfriend.”

“He’s not my—Hendrik is our prisoner! Nothing more. And I think you know that difference just as much as I do!” Sylvando held his head in his hands, probably to distract himself from throttling Erik. “I swear, sometimes I wish I could just smack the stupid right out of you. But I love you, so I won’t.” 

Erik’s heart took off in flight. “You mean, he can stay? I promised I would show him around the _Stallion_ , maybe he can teach me a few things too.”

“Ah, ah, not before you ease my troubled mind.” Sylvando jerked his arm, pulling Erik back from his reverie. “Some things are just better left unknown, and I don’t think the rest of the world is ready to discover Eleven quite yet. So consider yourself lucky that he let you find him, eh? But you have to promise me now, that you’ll protect him and his secret from everyone outside this vessel.”

What was he expecting? For Erik to just shout news of Eleven’s existence to the entire population of Erdrea? Sylvando was either way too over protective, or very, very afraid of… something. Maybe a weird combination of both. But either way, Erik would have done so without having been asked.

“You know I will,” Erik replied. He had only just met Eleven last night, and still there was an aching desire in him to protect the other boy. Inexplicable, and over powering, but it was there all the same. He had even thrown himself carelessly into the water when it seemed that Eleven was drowning. 

But at the mention of secrets, Erik couldn’t help but ask, “I’ve been thinking of something, ever since we dragged Prins Hendrik on board and he started throwing that crazy fit.”

“What is it, my love?” Sylvando replied. For once, at least since before this tangled mess had woven itself into the disaster that it was, he seemed peaceful. Hendrik’s arrival had been anything but.

“Who do you think _Norberto_ is?”

︵‿︵‿୨✿❀✿୧‿︵‿︵

**S Y L V A N D O**

Well, wasn’t that a million gold question? One that Sylvando had the answer to, but no one needed to know that vital fact. If the prince were to suddenly recognize him after all? There would be an itty bitty little tiny problem on his hands. Keeping Hendrik high off his rocker or throwing him overboard would have been a practical solution, but now that he thought hard on it… that might be met with some criticism by the crew, not to mention Princess Jade. That left Sylvando with no other option than to deal with it, and in the only way he knew how: When violence failed, you could always tell a lie.

Blowing it off would be easy enough, though, at least where Erik was involved. All it required was a good swing of his silver tongue, which Sylvando had sharpened to a fine point with years of practice.

“I’ve heard of him, the princess spoke his name during our first meeting,” Sylvando began. “Norberto Rodrigo is Prins Hendrik’s retainer. Poor bastard must’ve been calling out to him in his sleep. Luckily for us, Rodrigo was missing during the ball.” Lucky for several reasons, in fact.

It was a half truth, which made Sylvando feel a tad less remorseful about lying. Hendrik did have a retainer with the family name of Rodrigo. The Rodrigo’s were a famous family of knights originating from Puerto Valor, entrusted with the protection of the Royal Drustian Family. They enjoyed close relations for many, many years, tempered by generations of sworn vows and practiced devotion, as champion and charge.

Only the guard’s first name wasn’t _Norberto_. It was _Diego_ , but Sylvando had gotten it close enough. If caught, at least it was a manageable error.

“I wonder why that is…” Erik was uncharacteristically thoughtful, his mind stuck on _Norberto’s_ disappearance. “You’d think he’d wanna be around for such an important event.”

“He must have been away on other business, far more of the essence if it meant not being there to protect Hendrik at his wedding. But word is, Rodrigo is very good at what he does; so no doubt he’s tracking us down like a bloodhound right now! Scary, scary!” Rodrigo’s whereabouts were unknown even to him, so no lies were needed on that front. Sylvando waved Erik away as Angelo approached them. “Run along back to your room, you scamp. Shouldn’t you be entertaining your curious little fish friend?”

“Is _that_ what we’re calling it now?” Angelo asked amusedly. “Take some pride in yourself, Erik.”

“Angie please, dragging your mind through the gutter like that is unbecoming of a gentlemen.” Sylvando smiled, but it was tired. Angelo was the only qualified medic and healer on the _Stallion_ , so he’d been tasked by the captain with monitoring Hendrik as he slept. His intrusion could only mean one thing, that Hendrik was either conscious or dead as a doornail, but Sylvando wished for a moment of peace before he had to meet the prince again. It wouldn’t be as Madame Rosa, Yggdrasil rest her soul, but as Sylvando: his greatest persona of all. “What do you want from me now?”

“The prince is…” The other sighed, “…awake. He is being difficult, and demands to speak with Lady Bombastic.” Fantastic. They could deal with their little problem right away.

“Making demands on my boat? It looks like he’ll need a reminder of just who is in charge around here.” It was him, by the way. Sylvando was in charge. “Is he actually coherent this time?” 

Angelo shrugged, “For the most part.”

“Thank you, angel. I’ll speak with our guest on my own, I’ll come get you when I’m done.” 

Hopefully Hendrik would not be worse off when he was finished. It’d be a shame to undo all of Angelo’s hard-work, and worse still to hear the man fuss up and down about it as he normally did. For all of his trouble and to shut him up, a bottle of whiskey would be in Angelo’s future. No doubt Sylvando would need a shot or two himself. 

❀

Sylvando trotted back to his captain’s quarters, black boots thrumming against the solid wooden floors. Without so much as a knock, he burst the double doors wide open. It was his room after all, and Hendrik was his prisoner; he didn’t need to knock.

“Good morning, flower boy,” Sylvando greeted. “I hope you had a nice little nappie poo.”

Unsurprisingly, the prince was not pleased to see him. “What is the meaning of this?” Hendrik said, “I asked to speak with the Lady Bombastic.”

Sylvando meanwhile sauntered over to his wooden desk, and leaned half of his weight upon the corner of it. From there, he stared at Prins Hendrik expectantly, arms crossed and awaiting the grand revelation. 

“You’re looking at her, _querido_.” Sylvando replied. “Do you not recognize the bruises around my neck as choke marks? Or are you as stupid as you look?”

Hendrik sat calmly and composed upon the bed, unmoving, but his countenance was anything but relaxed. Who knows what he might have done, were he not tethered to the bed-frame by two manacles? One was around each wrist, with a chain that gave him ample enough room to sit up and move about the bed, but not much else. It was really too bad the Stallion didn’t have its own brig, as most ships did, otherwise Hendrik could have made himself right at home in there, all comfy and cozy, instead of in Sylvando’s bed. Ungrateful prick.

He looked about as exhausted as Sylvando felt. That was to say, he looked like complete and utter shit. They had taken off his coat and corset, with hair once pulled pristinely back now pooling around his face freely, and Hendrik remained in only a crumpled black dress shirt and dark trousers.

He sat up with his back straight, blue eyes glowering, and still for some reason trying to appear regal even despite his current circumstances. It came off as nothing but arrogant, prideful nonsense, and Sylvando simply couldn’t bring himself to care. What good did pride do for anyone? Pride hadn’t helped Hendrik stay off of his ship, and it certainly wouldn’t help him disembark it.

It would get him nowhere, but maybe Sylvando would have the honor of helping Hendrik figure that out for himself… with a gentle push. Preferably into the ocean. 

“You?” Hendrik inquired, as the next words hesitated to unravel, “But you are…”

“A man? And this same man was the object of your undying affection, last night, so he was.” Sylvando finished for him, and he thought back to the dancing, the shameless flirting, and the kiss that they had almost shared before Hendrik tried wringing the life out of him. It had all meant nothing, simply an act on both of their parts, but still, the next question was no less tempting to ask. “That wouldn’t be a problem, now would it, Your Highness?”

Hendrik only stared at him, thoughtful, as if genuinely, truly contemplating what his answer might be. “No,” he eventually replied, and something suddenly felt caught up in Sylvando’s chest, “I suppose it is not.”

“Good… because for the next few weeks you and I are going to be spending a lot of time together. Why, I bet we’ll be best friends in no time!”

“That remains to be seen,” Hendrik said, as if he really had a choice in the matter. “If you are the man I wish to speak with, then I demand answers. Who sent for you, and why have you brought me abroad your ship?”

“You make a lot of demands for someone in chains.” But Sylvando decided to answer anyway, as a show of pity. Hendrik must have been in denial, or made a good show of pretending he was really that ignorant.  
“Your fiancée called me in for a wee favor; your kidnapping in exchange for some gold. Just a little trifle. Though I use that term ‘fiancée’ loosely, seeing as you won’t be marrying her after all.”

Hendrik tensed for a moment, but his shield was put back up when he seethed, “You will find that I am not as easily manipulated. What lies did you tell her, you snake?” 

Was that how it was going to be, then? Lady Bombastic, the wretched marauder, trapping the innocent princess in his schemes with poison-dipped lies? Rejection was an ugly color on the prince, or was it something else entirely that steered his delusions?

All in all, Sylvando thought that he had let Hendrik down gently. But it seemed that the other man had no intentions of making it easy for either of them. Sylvando was a fine actor, and he could be anything he wanted if he so chose. If Hendrik wanted cruelty, to be painted as a the tragic hero, then Lady Bombastic would be the perfect villain.

“Don’t you see it yet? How hard is this to understand? She must have told you only a million times!” Sylvando asked, voice raising, “Princess Jade will not have you! She doesn’t love you!”

“ _Love_ has nothing to do with anything!” Hendrik hollered in kind. His hands had balled into fists in his lap. “In the life you are born to, there are certain expectations. Ones that must be met no matter the cost! It matters not that she does not love me, or that I do not love her.”

It took a lot in him not to strike the prince. And though Jade was not there to listen in on their conversation, Sylvando felt compelled to defend her. “And you think that you can just make that decision for her? What about what Jade feels; it’s only her life, doesn’t she get a choice in any of it?” 

“Choice is not something granted to people like us,” Hendrik replied, glaringly practiced and soulless. “We must do what we are told. For the greater good of Heliodor and Zwaardsrust must this union see fruition!”

“Everyone has a choice, Your Highness, even you!” If Hendrik thought his actions to be noble, then Princess Jade was right to refuse him. Who really was working toward the “greater good” here?

“I do not,” Hendrik was adamant. “Do not preach to me. _You_ , a criminal, know nothing of honor or duty, living a life of self gratification as you do.”

“You’re right, darling, I don’t know anything. If you think something as hollow as sacrificing yourself for a loveless marriage is going to solve anything, then you are too far gone.” Sylvando said, and it wasn’t him trying to play at being the villain. 

For a moment, regrettable as it was, he thought that there might have been something more to Hendrik. When he had spoken last night of loving someone else, of following his heart and of love at first sight, Sylvando had believed him. Even if his confession wasn’t truly about Madame Rosa, surely Hendrik must have felt something for _someone_ for words like that to spill so earnestly off his tongue. But the prince was empty after all, and the meaningless life he led even more so. “I see no point in reasoning with a martyr who suppresses his own desires for the sake of some withered old kings, who did the exact same thing for the kings before them.”

“And what will you do with me now, that I cannot be reasoned with?” Hendrik asked, still sitting up straight like he was so damn better than Sylvando. “Will you kill me?”

That would be so nice, wouldn’t it? And all too predictable. That Hendrik should want to die now, to accept his fate, thinking he had no choice in what direction his life went? He would be remembered as the unfortunate, noble hero who fought for the good of Zwaardsrust until the bitter end. Cut down by a faithless pirate. Sylvando would have sliced open his throat, and painted the walls red with his Goddess given blood. That wasn’t happening, not today. Hendrik said he had no choice, so he wouldn’t get to choose the easy way out. Absolutely not.

“As much as I would love that, _cariño_ , I’m afraid that you’re worth more to me alive. Until I get the rest of my money, that is, so don’t lose hope just yet.” Sylvando frowned down at Hendrik, with hatred welding his grey eyes into daggers. “Though with the life you lead, I’m not sure you were ever alive to begin with.”

Hendrik balked at such a statement, and it served good enough as the first crack in his armor. “Begone from my sight!” The prince yelled.

With pleasure, but Lady Bombastic decided to leave him with a few more parting words. A gift from pirate king to hapless prince. 

“I will. And you can stay there at the end of my chain, like the obedient dog that you are,” Sylvando blew him a kiss. “Try to be a good boy now and refrain from hanging yourself with it.”

He left Hendrik without another reply. The man remained silent after that, as if accepting his fate, and that was almost disappointing in a way that made Sylvando feel pained, conflicted. It would have been a useless endeavor, trying to escape or argue further, but seeing Hendrik fight for something would have at least let Sylvando know that he wasn’t as dead inside as the captain had claimed.

Sylvando would figure out what to do with the prince soon, after a nice nap and a plate of hot food. He couldn’t keep that man posted up to the bed forever, as tempting as that sounded, so maybe he could keep Hendrik busy with a little work around the _Stallion_. Some air and sunlight might do the accursed bastard some good. If that pale, princely skin and almost sunken in cheekbones were anything to go by, he looked like he was in desperate need of it.

His mind raced with the possibilities, and Sylvando was glad for the distraction. Hendrik hadn’t even recognized him, and made no further mention of Norberto. That boy must have been a drug induced mirage after all, but that was no problem for Lady Bombastic. Still… he recalled how Hendrik, looking so weak and afraid, called meekly out for _Norberto_ as he gazed toward Sylvando with unseeing eyes. When he looked at the mercenary, what did he see now? He wondered.

Never mind that... Sylvando had no time to deal with feelings that were no longer his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOOOHHH I love a good round of word battery, and when it comes to throwing sass, Sylvando always wins. Also I’m pretty sure the chloroform scene is inaccurate, but I’m not about to google that to make sure. And lastly, the folklore flavortext is based on “Only Eleven Little Fish” from Yiddish Folktales. Speaking of Eleven Fish... sorry he and Erik went kinda quiet this chapter. But next time they will do... Adventure Stuff.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has left comments, kudos, etc since last time! I berry much appreciate it! And would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter. :3 💖
> 
> Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and happy holidays. 💕


	4. As Above, So Below

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR :) Have a new chapter. A lot of it is probably on the filler side, but also kinda spicy. Content warnings for referenced/implied ableism, and some drinking and smoking.

Once upon a time, there were two young lovers who crossed paths at a forest spring. Their names were Morvarid and Sanne, and they were from two differing kingdoms. Sanne’s father discovered their trysts and arranged for his daughter to marry a man from their land. However, Sanne prayed to the dragon Yggdrasil for help in escaping this fate. Yggdrasil complied and turned Sanne into a flower. Morvarid, who was unaware of both Sanne’s transformation and of her father’s plan, waited each night by the spring in hope of her lover’s return. But Sanne never came, and eventually the animals who dwelled in the forest took pity on Morvarid and told her of what became of the other. She then begged Yggdrasil to help her find Sanne, and the dragon again complied by turning Morvarid into a hummingbird. 

So, if you ever witness a hummingbird flitting from blossom to blossom, it could be Morvarid still searching for her lost love.

_Folktales from Across Erdrea_

︵‿︵‿୨✿❀✿୧‿︵‿︵

**H E N D R I K**

Years ago, Jasper had escorted him to the _Slagveld_ , so that the two of them might plant a few flowers of their own. His dear friend had insisted on sowing the seeds of Hendrik’s own namesake, as a symbol of his devotion to the prince. Even now, as he balanced between his duties to the King of Heliodor, Jasper remained by Hendrik’s side whenever he found his way back to Zwaardsrust. Heliodorian blood might have coursed through Jasper’s veins, and he did love and serve his kingdom justly, but when it came to matters of the heart, he was a true Drustian. His loyalties to Hendrik signified that even more-so.

So, even after their seeds refused to prosper, and instead burgeoned into withered husks, Jasper somehow still loved him. Their flowers would bear no blooms, and so too would their love fail to blossom, were the old legends to be believed. Hendrik blamed himself, for cursing them both. 

The burden should have been Hendrik’s to bear alone. After all, his traitorous heart was the cause. Jasper was virtuous, kind, despite how much he liked to pretend otherwise; he represented everything that was good in their world. Hendrik, who thought of shirking his duties all for the chance of being with the other man, and not to the one who he had been promised to… it was no wonder that Koningin Begonia would seek retribution from her foolish descendant. A life with the one he loved was one that Hendrik could not lead. It was a… just punishment. 

The flowers Hendrik planted were dead, along with his sister, his mother, and surely his father was next to follow. It was the curse, Hendrik was certain, set out to take everyone he had ever loved. The earth itself blackened in rage at his betrayal, his selfishness. Why could he not take their place?

And despite all protest from Jasper, he never turned his sights again to the _Slagveld_. The shame of seeing the black, horrid flowers he’d been responsible for was too great. His flowers—they were… Hendrik did not deserve love. He was incapable of it, in fact, and he would never again plant another seed.

Before this revelation, he and Jasper sat together in the _Slagveld_ , surrounded by a never ending field of flowers. The other man looked beautiful, as he always did, with flaxen eyes glimmering and a kind smile upon his doting visage. His deep skin made him seem almost as golden as his hair. To Hendrik, however, Jasper was much more than that.

The object of his affections was a fool, certainly, for vowing himself to a cursed man. No good could come from someone like Hendrik. But Hendrik was still selfish after all, it seemed, for despite all of his self loathing, that same treacherous part of him wanted to belong with Jasper. When they were alone, they were not prince and general, but something else entirely… something simpler. For a small, cherished amount of time... Hendrik could trick himself into thinking he was normal, that he had found his place in life, before his iron mask slipped back on once again.

Then, like the tolling of a bell, chains had found themselves wrapped around Hendrik’s wrists. He stared at them, aghast, as their rusted color was a stark contrast to the lush greens and yellows of the meadow, sprinkled with every color of the rainbow. He then turned to Jasper, who only extended outwards a gloved palm that held a small key. 

When Hendrik tried to grasp onto the key, his chains were yanked suddenly and viciously from behind, and he was dragged onto his hands and knees. In fear, he cried out for Jasper, but could not find the man anywhere through a thick fog. 

As he gazed up, his eyes followed along the chains to find who held the other end. There, with a face like thunder, an utterly dark countenance, was none other than Hendrik himself.

❀

Hendrik had awoken earlier that day, with a sickly feeling in his stomach that couldn’t be attributed solely to a bad dream. No, it was sea sickness that made him throw up all over himself. The younger man who had been saddled with Hendrik’s care, the healer—he did not know his name—had been none too pleased with the mess. But after a moment he had almost sympathetically advised that Hendrik would gain his sea legs eventually. That with enough time, the waves would feel like nothing.

Hendrik didn’t want that. He wanted to be back on land, where the ones he cared for were surely waiting for him… Jasper was likely searching for him right now, up for days with worry and anxiety while Hendrik had been in a drug-induced sleep. How sorely he wished to ease the other’s troubled mind. He did not want to continue being shackled with these… whatever these people called themselves. 

_Like the dog you are_ , his captor had said, and what an accurately painted portrait that was. Hendrik was loathe to think he would see Lady Bombastic again.

︵‿︵‿୨✿❀✿୧‿︵‿︵

**S Y L V A N D O**

When word reached him that Hendrik needed a change of clothes, Sylvando sent dashing Dave to the prince’s aid. His quartermaster was very likely the only person close to Hendrik in regards to size, so he might have something that would fit, but in truth Sylvando simply sent the other in his stead as he had no desire to deal with Hendrik or his brooding.

With all of his responsibilities as captain of the _Stallion_ , Sylvando and his crew had spent the past several days navigating their way to Clawcrab Island. It was a small island southwest of Puerto Valor, and was known ironically as the _Shining Jewel of the Costa Valor_ due to its… unsavory reputation. Indeed, Clawcrab Island was the hub for many sailors and mercenaries alike. There, one could throw a little gold around, and get a bit of alcohol and company in return. It would be a good place to hide amongst the objectionable crowd. As long as they kept their heads down and didn’t cause a scene. 

Besides, a ship did not maintain itself, and the _Stallion_ was long overdue for her next cleaning. They would need to take her to a boatyard, and Clawcrab had a blackmarket decent enough to harness supplies for the remaining chapter of their trip. Lady Bombastic was expected in Zwaardsrust by next week, and it would be unbecoming to deliver their precious cargo on a barnacle laden ship. 

His crew would likely protest to the sudden workload, but Sylvando was sure that he could entice them to get their hands dirty for awhile if it meant a few nights of booze and fun at Clawcrab. As a treat from their loving mother, of course.

Maybe even Prins Hendrik could tag along, if he promised to be on his best behavior.

Speaking of which, Hendrik emerged from the hull with Dave in tow. He was no longer in chains, and looked a bit pale in the face, but neither of those things were what caught Sylvando’s attention. It was the pink shirt that the prince was wearing, obviously a donation from his dear Dave. That made Sylv wonder… Dave never wore shirts to begin with, so what bottomless pit had they dug _that_ thing out of?

Hendrik pulled at the collar and nervously fiddled with the top button of his newfound apparel. Sylvando didn’t even notice how the fabric pulled tightly over his arms, accentuating a strong frame that was forgettable and not at all pleasing to the eye. Instead of wishing Sylvando a good morning as he should have, Hendrik asked, “Do you have anything in black that would fit me?”

“You still want to wear black in this heat? You’ll just burn yourself alive.” Sylvando scoffed. “Is the pink not to your liking, darling?” And here he was just starting to think that the pastels complimented the prince’s long hair.

“It is not a matter of liking,” Hendrik paused. “I am still in mourning for the late Koningin Amaranth. My elder sister.”

Sylvando blushed a little at that. Hendrik had worn all black even to the ball, but Sylv hadn’t bothered to make the connection until it was spelled out right in front him. “Oh,” he startled, snapping out of his ashamed silence, before Dave interrupted. 

“Sling your hook, Sylv!” Dave scolded, before turning back to Hendrik. “Don’t mind him, Highness, he doesn’t know what he’s rabbiting about. I’m sorry about the ol’ queen. _Mijn oprechte medeleven._ ”

Dave was the only person who could get away with talking to him that way (aside from Erik, who was a completely different problem at the moment), but even if he wasn’t, Sylvando probably would have taken that proverbial blow to the gut regardless. 

It was still a strange, rare occurrence to hear Dave speak in Drustian, though Dave himself was born in Zwaardsrust. He and the prince were so… unalike. And even stranger was it for Sylvando to feel the curious influx of mixed emotions when he noticed the pained expression that had overtaken Hendrik’s visage. The mention of his sister must have been difficult for him, and to think he wouldn’t have brought her up had Sylvando not been so thoughtless. 

“I’m sorry too, for what I said.” Still intrigued at such a look, Sylvando was more careful when he next asked, “What was your sister like?”

Sylvando remembered the girl that Amaranth had been growing up. She had been his friend. But he knew so little of the woman she’d become; the queen. So he listened when Hendrik said, “There was not a soul in Zwaardsrust who did not admire Amaranth. Growing up, I was always… timid, but she instilled in me almost every virtue I bear. The flower ‘amaranth’ represents immortality. ‘Unfading’; my sister was not supposed to die… and yet her loss still plagues me.”

There was much that could have been said, but Sylvando was not about to dig up something he’d buried long ago. 

Instead, he pulled Hendrik toward him in a puzzling gesture of camaraderie. He didn’t know what compelled him out of nowhere to treat the prince with kindness; maybe it was pity? Pity had always been at the forefront of Sylvando’s mind when he looked at Hendrik, followed by anger of course, but pity hadn’t stopped him from calling the man a dog just a few days prior. Since then, he had barely so much as even looked in their prisoners direction.

“Tell you what, flower boy, we’ve just docked in Clawcrab. And Meena has no doubt already set up shop somewhere, what say we join her for a round of cards and a drink?”

Hendrik tilted his head, stiff as a board with Sylvando’s arm around his shoulder. “A drink? You mean, of course, to incapacitate me once again?”

He might have deserved that, just a little, but Sylvando was smart enough to know now that excess drink was not the way of getting Hendrik to do whatever he wanted. That honor went to violence, which was another thing… it had been _Erik_ who’d struck the prince over the head. Sylvando was innocent. He’d never done a wrong thing in his life!

“Oh, don’t be such a spoil sport. You’ve nowhere to run now, trapped amongst the scourges of society as you are, so you might as well make the best of it, eh? It’s not often that such an eligible bachelor lands around these parts.”

“Cor blimey, Sylv…” Dave blushed, which should have been impossible for Sylv to see under his mask.

“ _Not you!_ Scoundrel…” Sylvando replied. “Don’t make me regret this. Now come along, ladies, we have troubles to forget and sorrows to drown!”

︵‿︵‿୨✿❀✿୧‿︵‿︵

**E R I K**

As Sylvando and the others busied themselves with cheap drinks, alcohol was the last thing on Erik’s mind.

Eleven was an expert on what dwelled beneath the oceans surface, below the crashing waves. And while Erik himself wasn’t an expert on much, he at least knew a thing or two here and there about what went into sailing a boat. So after he patiently explained every mechanism, knot, pulley, what have you, to an endearingly curious Eleven, the merman decided to repay Erik with a little study trip of his own. A weird compromise, so to speak, though when they were around one another, it didn’t feel like either of them were really giving up on anything.

Whatever Eleven wanted, Erik would have given it to him regardless. The sway the other boy had over his heart still couldn’t be explained… it gripped at Erik, tightened around his chest. He had never felt like that around anyone else before. Maybe it was some strange kind of mermaid magic?

Whatever the reason, there was so much to admire about his new friend. Erik had always crawled his way through life on his hands and knees, struggling, yet apathetic to most things and bitter at others. It wasn’t always his fault; surviving on the streets would be hard on anyone, let alone a child who’d for years been granted no other way of life. It was simply his way of dealing with it. Begging for food, sleeping in a gutter, and being harassed by soldiers couldn’t bother you if you simply pretended not to care. He was small, half-blind, weak; an easy target, so Erik had to adapt. Put up a wall, so no one got through. That was his logic, and it had always kept Erik straight, or so he thought.

With Eleven, however, came an overwhelming challenge to the very foundation of Erik’s walls. He had only known the merman for a week or so, and still, Eleven had been so curious and bright-eyed about everything that crossed his path. About the _Stallion_ , about shoes, sails, Sylvando’s smoking pipe, and how Maya danced. It was… amazing, to see someone so entranced with the mundane life that Erik had cobbled up for himself. In a portrait of that mediocrity, he wondered, would Eleven be painted there? Would he stay with him? For some reason, Erik wanted that more than anything. 

Erik wanted _him_. Eleven came from a world of mystery, and was a creature most believed to be nonexistent… _He_ was the marvel, one of a kind and beautiful. And yet here he was, thinking the same of Erik. It made him feel so… he didn’t know.

Was it love? Instant and unrestrained?

He had to put a pin in that thought when the edge of his small sail boat almost collided right with a rock, jolting Erik. Eleven peaked up at him from the water, poking his head out like a little turtle from its shell. 

“This is the cove I told you about,” Eleven reached over and grabbed Erik’s hand, urging him gently into water where Eleven proceeded to lead them into a cave, and with El holding him in such familiarity Erik swore he almost died right then. “I’ll need to dive under to get us there. I hope you can hold your breath better than you can swim.”

Erik laughed nervously as he battled down a blush. “I can hold my boy—“ he stuttered, arms around Eleven, and that stupid blush had him beat. “I mean! I can hold my breath just fine!”

“Alrightie, I’m a strong swimmer. So you don’t need to be scared as long as you hold on tight!”

Erik inhaled, and under they went with a strong wave of Eleven’s arms and tail. 

It was much quieter down under the water, serene, like a completely different world of its own. And Erik was grateful to Eleven for carrying him on his back while they made their trek. Out of his eye, everything around them only looked like a blur. 

The further they swam down, the light began to recede and Erik felt a sudden chill run through him. Instinctually, he almost breathed out in terror, surrounded by the unknown like that, but the security he felt when holding the other boy eased away that primal fear. Just like that, it was suddenly dark, and Erik couldn’t see a thing as they entered the cove.

As they broke the surface, Erik took in a grateful breath of air as Eleven pulled him towards a small stretch of land. It felt strange to be underneath the waves, hidden away in this secluded pocket of air and life, and as Erik’s eye adjusted to the darkness he noticed something he’d never seen before. Trails of spectral light, following the push and pull of the water they’d breached, like tiny fireflies.

Erik placed his hand back in the water, and moved it gently along the surface. Like magic, the water lit up again in dazzling sparkles of a shocking blue. The more he moved, the more sparks lit up, and spread out as far as they could see, illuminating the cave in an ethereal glow.

He turned to Eleven. The other boy only sat there quietly for the time being, for some reason instead transfixed on Erik when Erik’s own eye was upon the marvel ahead of them. “What is this?” he asked him, voice echoing against the walls. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“I thought the same thing! When I first found this place.” Eleven explained, snapping out of his transfixion, and moved his tail about. Almost like an excitable puppy, Erik thought. Even before then, Eleven already had this unexplained glow, that trailed like an invisible halo everywhere he swam about. Erik didn’t know what angels or gods looked like, but he liked to think Eleven came pretty close. 

He could barely even focus on what the boy said next, as the mysterious phantom wisps made his eyes an even more impossible blue. “It’s just plankton, thousands of them actually. They like it when it’s dark, and warm, and somehow… Well, they do this.” He gestured around them. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Beautiful was one word for it, and Erik told him so, “It’s amazing, El,” he breathed, and the subtle glow illuminated his own blue iris. “How’d you find this place?”

“Oh, I’m something of a drifter nowadays, I like to wander… and well, who wouldn’t want to go swimming around in a dark, scary cave?” It was a joke, to which he gave a subtle, airy chuckle, before Eleven continued, “When I met you, actually, I thought back to this place… not the ‘dark, scary’ part of course! But the plankton glowing in the water.”

With that, Eleven became shy, and hunched his shoulders bashfully. As if he hadn’t realized how bold his declaration was until that moment. Meanwhile, Erik could feel a warmth spread across his own face at the others words. A beautiful sight, like this… reminded the merman of _him_? It had to be some kind of mistake. He was sure of it.

Erik could hardly believe it, as impossible as it seemed, but he asked just to make sure, “Me… but why?” 

Eleven laughed again, as if the answer were obvious. The sound of it was precious enough to tickle at Erik’s heart strings, before the boys next words made the rest of his feeble heart soar straight out of his chest.

“Because… on land or at sea,” the merman smiled at him, “There’s no one else out there like you.”

It was from surprise and… what was it? Pain? That Erik began to weep. Even with a missing eye, plain upon his face, he could still shed tears from it. It was something most didn’t know about him, but the way they streamed down his face was more than enough evidence of the fact. Abashed, Erik turned from Eleven and removed his eye covering, to wipe the blasted tears away before he somehow made a bigger fool of himself.

“Oh, your eye…” Eleven paused at his tears, almost timid when normally he was anything but, and Erik was afraid that the other boy was looking at him in pity. A wet hand closed over his, somehow impossibly warm and gentle, stopping Erik in his tracks. “Did it hurt? When you lost it?”

Erik wrung the water out of the silken patch, but did not replace it back over the scarred, sunken skin. “I didn’t feel a thing, actually, when it happened.” The memory was unforgettable. “But when other people look at me, when they see a useless kid who’s weak; a burden. That hurts more than anything.”

“I don’t think you’re a burden,” Eleven said.

“Everyone does, eventually,” was his sullen reply, as a downpour of emotions came flooding in. They were restrained notions that Erik had kept a secret, tucked away under lock and key, never to see the light of day. But they weren’t under the light of day, were they? He realized. He and Eleven basked in a different light, one of their own creation. “It’s still gross looking, isn’t it? This scar? I’m sorry…”

He moved to wrap the silk back around his head, and Eleven grabbed the ends of his bandana, helping Erik tie the last knot to secure it in place. 

“Maybe it is, I’m still not really completely sure of the ways you humans navigate through life.” Eleven said quietly, “But I think every part of you is beautiful. This is the only Erik I’ve ever known, and I like you this way… the way you are.”

“Goddess, El…” Erik all but sobbed. “Is this really happening?” The way Eleven had said all of that just now, like it was as clear as day? As obvious as the scar on his face? Erik couldn’t handle it, as overwhelmed as he was. But still, through the tears and above the overbearing sense of shame that he had become all too familiar with, Erik felt… happy.

Eleven didn’t have the chance to ask Erik what he meant, before Erik answered for him, “It is, isn’t it? I think—I think I’m in love with you.”

He had felt traces of it before. The roses that bloomed upon his cheeks, his keen interest in everything Eleven rambled about, and the strong powerful, urge to protect him… the implications were never lost on Erik. But to hear Eleven liken him to the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen? Wanting him as he was, and nothing more? That cemented it for him. Then, he knew Eleven felt the same way. 

Erik found it hard to love himself, or most things in this world for that matter, but if Eleven was by his side? If he could just feel the other’s love, and bask in it like a warm fire? Maybe, someday, Erik could gaze upon his reflection and see in it someone deserving of that love.

“I love you too, Erik. From the very moment you saved me from those dolphins,” Eleven replied, and delicately, moved to capture Erik in a kiss.

It was chaste, reserved, the pressing of their lips. To the outside world, their kiss might have reflected their inexperience, and the slight touches of hesitance and trepidation dwelling within them both. But to Erik, who had never in his life been this close to anyone, it was perfect.

︵‿︵‿୨✿❀✿୧‿︵‿︵

**H E N D R I K**

Lady Bombastic had roped him into entering a seedy tavern, squalid and disreputable; no place for a man like Hendrik, not that he had a choice in the matter.

To think, for days he had spent his time merely chained to a bed, toiling the hours away between restless sleep and agitated wakefulness. There’d been nothing to distract himself, and no one aside from Angelo had visited since Hendrik and his captor made their abhorrent dislike of one another known. It was… strangely lonely. He had been allowed to read a few books, after Angelo had insisted that the activity would keep his mind from rotting after the blow to the head. Days later, Hendrik felt fine, thanks to the other’s care, minus his sullen spirits. 

And now, he had been allowed some semblance of freedom in being brought… here, wherever here even was. Hendrik would rather be outside, in the sunlight and fresh air, but no doubt if he demanded such a thing, it would come at a cost. With Lady Bombastic, one must be careful what they wished for.

So instead, surrounded by the smell of drink and cigar smoke, Hendrik, along with Sylvando and the others, were gathered around a crowded table. At the center of it all was a young girl, Meena, who had indeed set up a card deck with the intention of reading fortunes (for a small fee). Hendrik had heard of the game; tarot, but what little he did know of it was only based on hearsay. The idea of reading fortunes seemed ridiculous, fanciful, and Hendrik really wanted no part of it. 

Naturally, then, did Sylvando’s voice reach out to him, and the other man was suddenly much closer than he’d been before, insisting that it was the prince’s turn to draw up a round of cards.

Hendrik leaned away from him, a mixture of rum and whiskey slowly warming itself in his stomach. His disdain for the captain had no trouble making itself known. Being stuck here was enough cause for irritation, but if Sylvando insisted on staying by his side, Hendrik might go mad. 

“Unless the cards will tell me how to get away from you, then I see no point in any of it,” eventually came his refusal. “At least have the courtesy to leave me at peace.”

“Oh, come on now, liven up.” Sylvando replied, stubbornly. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

As always, the prince remained vigilantly quiet, brooding, before pressing out the end of his finished cigarette onto an ashtray. Just as quickly as the first one had arrived, another was soon pressed between his lips. Hendrik did not often partake in smoking, but the indulgence was merely to quell his tired nerves, or so he told himself. The smell was oddly nostalgic, and reminded Hendrik of home; when he was just a boy, idly listening in on his father and Don Rodrigo as they both chatted and smoked. 

“I must have left it in Heliodor,” Hendrik replied. Sylvando took a drag of his own stogie, before warm smoke billowed in Hendrik’s face. Irritated, he waved a hand and asked the wretched fiend, “Do you have another light?”

“Only this one,” Sylvando gestured to the ember slowly burning at the end of his cigar. Surely, he had only coyly presented it so that Hendrik would refuse, and maybe pout a little more from his corner.

“Very well,” Hendrik replied, instead. Brazenly, he placed a hand on Sylvando’s shoulder, while the other hand served to hold steadily on the cigarette still between his teeth. He brought his face almost uncomfortably close, slowly touching the end of his unlit cigarette to the half finished cigar even while it was still in Sylvando’s mouth. From there, Hendrik inhaled, letting the newly awakened smoke cool around his burning throat, before breathing out. 

For the entire exchange, Hendrik did not allow his eyes to remove themselves from Sylvando’s visage. The same sentiment was shared, surely, as Sylvando refused to turn away. A game of sorts, to see who would lose their nerve first? Neither of them could kill the other, at least not yet, but frustrations had to be released somehow.

Victory came swiftly. Sylvando almost blanched, practically scandalized by Hendrik’s sudden boldness. There was a look in his eyes then, one that he couldn’t describe, but he hardly cared. Hendrik wanted to beam with pride, but thought that hiding away his giddiness would serve better in the long run. For the first time since almost strangling the man to death, Hendrik felt, for a fleeting moment, that he possessed the upper hand. 

It was pointless, and petty, but he was merely playing along with the others foolishness. Hadn’t Sylvando been the one to tell him to relax?

He must have needed a reminder, one that Hendrik was gracious enough to provide. “Liven up a little, _mijn schatje_.” Another drag, another cloud of smoke. 

At Dave’s raucous laughter, Sylvando stood up, looking more suited for the part of a scorned lover than a mercenary captain. Making him look bad, was he? In front of all of his friends? Hendrik was having such a great time, he might need to order another whiskey from the bar. 

“ _What_ did you just call me?” Sylvando demanded.

“Just a little pet name,” Hendrik replied, shaking his head. “Is that any way to talk to your puppy?” What was it that Sylvando had called him the other day—a dog? 

His earlier words had honestly slipped from his tongue; he’d meant to call the marauder something more fitting, far less sweet. _Schatje_ had always been reserved for his dear Jasper, but surely enough once his anger flared, Hendrik barely had time to realize what he’d done. A lapse of judgement, perhaps.

“Oh, so now he wants to talk back!” Sylvando nearly banged on the table, with the fire in his eyes backlit by burning smoke and harsh liquor, and he swiped a finger in Hendrik’s face. “Let me remind you, you drunken brat. You belong to me—not as my puppy, but as my prisoner.” He snapped over at Dave, before storming off, “I’m leaving so I don’t murder the rest of our money, keep an eye on him or so help me.”

At Sylvando’s exit, Angelo leaned back in his chair and whistled. “Looks like someone is about to lose all of their off leash privileges.”

“He’s right,” Dave laughed, appreciatively. Hendrik had meant to ask where he’d picked up such an accent. “You’re out of your skull, Highness. Best behave a little before you end up brown bread.”

“I suppose all of this drink and freedom has gotten the best of me.” Unlike at the ball, where weak, fruity champagne had run rampart, Hendrik was actually beginning to skew a little more towards the drunken side of tipsy. If his newly discovered sense of humor was anything to go by.

“A game of tarot, then? To gather back your wits?” Meena almost surprised him. She had been so quiet until then, sitting prettily and occupied with her little game of cards. 

Maya groaned from the seat next to her. “Ugh, yes, you have to do it! Meena hasn’t shut up about it since you’ve arrived. ‘ _Arey, I’ve never read cards for a prince before!_ ’” She said mockingly, a crude imitation of Meena with a nasally voice. “Except for that Faris guy. Talk about a whiny loser!”

“Sister, hush!” Meena frowned, and they indeed looked the part of two feuding siblings. She turned back to Hendrik, sweetly, and asked, “But she is right, I have been very interested. You will grant me the opportunity, won’t you?” 

“Truthfully? What good is it all for?” Hendrik shook his head. He didn’t want to upset the young lady, nor insult her line of work, but replied in honesty, “I fail to see how cards can predict the future.”

“You’re looking it at through the wrong lens, Your Highness,” Meena replied, and the bracelets dotting along her arms began to tinkle as she shuffled her deck. “Tarot is not about predicting the future. It is merely a means to reflect on the journey of your inner self. Whether that does involve the future is up to you, but I cannot predict anything. A reading presents only one of many opportunities.”

She continued, “As we shuffle, it is important you ask yourself a question, to tap into your intuition.”

“I have no questions,” Hendrik replied. More than anything, he simply wanted to return home. He started there, “Will I—“

But Meena was quick to cut him off. “No, no. That won’t do you any good. You cannot be so specific; asking a ‘will you, won’t you’ will only make you take on too passive a role in your own future.” Hendrik, of course, did not see the issue in that. “Let me see… how about, ‘Is there a hidden opportunity among these mercenaries’?”

“Fine,” Hendrik tensed, and ran a frustrated hand over his face. It didn’t matter; he didn’t care about any of this. Shoulders hunched, he uttered between his teeth, as if the act somehow caused him pain, “Cards, how can I move past this… _opportunity_?” 

Left to right, three cards were set down across the table. Everyone except Hendrik leaned in, curiously, and all too eager to see what lucky cards the sullen prince would draw. It seemed that destiny was an interesting prospect, when it wasn’t one’s own.

“The first card…” Meena paused dramatically, and the room around them almost seemed to darken in anticipation. Though the sound of someone angrily flipping over a table, glasses breaking, could still be heard nearby. She flipped over the card, and there lied a depiction of two rabbits, one young and one old, surrounded by six cauldrons teeming with flowers. 

“Six of Cups,” Meena read. “The joyous meeting of past and present. Therein lies nostalgia for the memories formed long ago, but you must be cautious. While pleasant, these memories can be so engrossing that you may lose sight of the present.”

“The second card,” The center piece was too flipped over, to reveal a woman and lion standing side by side, with a wreath of flowers woven into both of their manes. Facing Hendrik, the card was upside down. “Strength in reverse. Recent events may have exposed doubt in your abilities, and you may feel ill-prepared for the challenges life has tossed your way.”

Hendrik stopped to ask, “Is your piece of paper implying that I am weak willed?” He would tear it to pieces. Show the dastardly card what for.

“Not necessarily,” But Meena did not outright disagree, Hendrik noted. “Like I mentioned before, tarot calls on you to tap into your intuition. Acknowledging your weaknesses may actually be a sign of inner strength. Is there a part of yourself that has made you feel shame?”

There were many things, far too many for Hendrik to announce then, in front of a crowd of strangers. He wasn’t yet drunk enough to confess, but even then visions came of his failure in being able to give Jasper the love he more than deserved, and in failing his father, time and time again. Failure was, after all, the only reason he was here. 

His shame was abundant, and a sense of self loathing even more, but Hendrik did not confess to this when he told Meena, “No.”

“Very well, these things all come with time. Your final card,” Meena revealed the depiction of a man hanging upside-down from the branches of Yggdrasil. “The Hanged Man represents the value of self sacrifice. Though he is hanging, the serenity upon his face may imply he is doing so of his own volition.” 

“Wait, that is all?” Hendrik gave pause before the questions began to overflow. “How does one even manage to hang one's self? What does it mean? Is that supposed to be me? Please. I thought this was supposed to be enlightening—but none of it makes sense at all.”

“Oh goddess, it _means_ that you’re messed up in the head! That, and Angie owes me five hundred gold.” Meena replied, looking proud of herself, while Angelo begrudgingly tossed a coin her way.

“For the last time! It is _rude_ to gamble on another’s fortune!” Meena meanwhile seemed to snap, almost as frustrated with her sister’s antics as she might have been with Hendrik’s supposed immunity to the fates. The quiet storm upon her face resided when she turned back to the prince. “Mr. Hendrik, think to yourself. The cards merely tell a story, a journey if you will. Anyone can see themselves in them, but it is up to you to fill in the blanks. Surely, a future king must be in touch with his emotions.”

He had to concede to her point. This girl was certainly wise beyond her years, despite her innocent appearance. But still, hesitance had its claws settled deeply in his flesh. “And if I cannot attune myself? Will I find myself lost on this journey?” Hendrik asked, and thought back to the dream he had this morning. A nightmare rather, that seemed horribly on the nose.

“I would strongly advise against such,” Meena frowned. “As above, so below, or so they say. Divinity is but a reflection of the mortal world.”

“I see,” Hendrik remarked, but in truth he actually understood it all very little. Another question captured his interest, and with subdued awe he asked, “Are there particular readings that can be done for people who have been… cursed?”

“Oh…” Meena paused to think on the matter. It was obvious that somehow, despite Hendrik’s skepticism, that they would find fast friends in one another through the cards. And Hendrik could tell that Meena was appreciative to have someone just as interested in the matter as she was, even if he was slow to get the ball rolling. “Are you asking on behalf of yourself? Or for someone else?”

Fighting down a blush, Hendrik all but whispered his confession of “Myself.” His first honest, open response. Would she think him mad then, to assume that he himself was cursed? Hendrik had been turned away, when he’d confided in Larkspur.

Fortunately, Meena did not seem perturbed by the sudden confession, and instead leaned in closer, as if allowing herself through a door that had finally been opened.

“There is a specific card spread we could do, and from there we can see if any of the readings do lead down the path of a curse. I could even tell your fortune once a day! And if you are cursed, there’s this wonderful trick where if you take an egg and…” her words trailed off, as she and Hendrik discussed his tumultuous fate.

︵‿︵‿୨✿❀✿୧‿︵‿︵

**S Y L V A N D O**

Stupid Hendrik. Stupid, insufferable, emotionally constipated Hendrik. Where did he get off, thinking himself so much better than Sylvando?

They both knew the truth; that Hendrik found his own life without meaning, and worse still was how he lacked the drive to do anything about it. That was what Sylvando was lead to believe, but every time the prince seemed like he would curl up into a ball and die, or if he was right where the captain wanted, Hendrik would get right back up just to butt heads with him. The prince must have been a creature who thrived on spite, as he certainly possessed Sylvando’s by the boat load.

In all honestly, as annoying as it was, it kind of excited Sylvando in a way. The shameful, disgusting kind of way, as he was just as flawed as any other man. But it was all solely because the idea of eventually knocking Hendrik back down to his knees was so enticing. They were locked in a desperate power struggle, so they were, with Hendrik ruling the land and Lady Bombastic the sea. Yes, that had to be the reason.

It wasn’t because Hendrik was handsome, much stronger than he gave himself credit for, or strangely alluring whenever he finally stood his ground. Sylvando only had himself to blame. He just wanted to make some goddess damned money.

He’d tried to play nice with the man, and where had that gotten him? Sylvando sat by the dock, sulking, and pretended to watch all of his troubles burn away at the end of his cigar. Troubles of the princely kind, with big stupid, over-inflated heads, and blue eyes, that had gazed deeply into his own, hands upon him. There it was again. Disgusting! He wanted to vomit straight in the water, then at least the fish swimming below would have something to eat.

As tempting as the impulse was, Sylvando ceased his retching before it even had the chance to begin, when a curious noise greeted his ears.

Gossip amongst the denizens of Clawcrab Island was always a particularly rare, delectable treat, especially when it involved _his_ catch. And it certainly did, Sylvando realized as he leaned closer into the noise; pirates and mercenaries, no better than Sylvando himself really, who all but blabbered out the notice of a new bounty on Prins Hendrik’s head.

“Two million gold for the prince’s return to Zwaardsrust, so the old king his father proclaims,” said one of the islanders. 

Sylvando raised a brow. Two million to return Hendrik safe and sound? He felt oddly cheated then, but doubted he could turn back and drop Hendrik off scot-free to take the reward. Besides, all of these royals were _so_ dramatic. It wasn’t like he wasn’t going to return the insufferable pain in the neck, just not until his time was up. Two million! Blah! Give him a break.

“That’s quite the pay day,” Another voice commented, and the first one responded back with, “I’ve heard that even the general of Heliodor is out there looking for him.”

“If Sir Jasper is out there somewhere, I’m out. There’s no getting past him.” Someone else added, and they were greeted by a chorus of agreements.

Ahh, yes, charming Jasper. A man after Madame Rosa’s heart (may she rest in peace), Sylvando had no doubts that he would met up with him again. It would only end in violence, were his blatant… protectiveness towards Hendrik to be taken into account. Doubtless, Jasper was the only one searching for the prince with no thought whatsoever towards the money. A dashing hero, was he?

Things would definitely take a wrong turn, as they so often did, if the grandiose news of Hendrik’s arrival were to suddenly land in the wrong hands. He might have been eaves-dropping on a bunch of quitters and cowards, but not everyone on this island was like that. For that price tag, things would get messy, and quickly. 

And to think, Sylvando had brought him straight here, too, to this cesspool of money hungry criminals. It was a… sure lapse in his normally unquestionably perfect judgement. 

Time to leave, Sylvando told himself, before flicking the end of his cigar to the floor and stamping it out.

He barged back into the tavern, his boots silently thrumming against the wooden floors as Sylvando inconspicuously moved toward his little party. Dave was the first to greet him, but Sylvando interrupted his old friend before his return could be announced.

“Time to go, now.” Sylvando urged. “Where is the little flower boy?” He wasn’t about to go uttering his name, not when anyone could be listening in.

Dave startled, confused. “The prin—“

Sylvando shushed him. “Shhh, shh, shut up. I’m serious, darling, as serious as a heart attack.” His tone lessened, but again he asked, “Don’t say anything. Just tell me, _where_ is he?”

Simultaneously, captain and quartermaster both turned toward the empty chair where Prins Hendrik had been seated. Dave squeaked in surprise, obviously just as horrified as Sylvando was. Where had he— _of course_ he was gone. Why would he expect anything else! His entire life was a joke after all.

Like a quiet storm, thunder and lightning brewing in his eyes, Sylvando pushed right past Dave and out of the tavern doors; straight back the way he came, towards certain death. 

That was his prisoner, his money, his prized horse, and Lady Bombastic would be damned if he just let it all walk away.

“S-Sylv!” Dave called, but there was no point. “Where are you going!”

Sylvando cursed himself, for being so stupid. He must have known, this entire time, the bastard must have known.

Quietly idling away while he was their prisoner, yet so smug in Sylvando’s face just moments ago, blowing smoke in his eyes… He had been rubbing in his victory. Hendrik had known his father would send out a bounty, and now he was let lose, probably turning himself in at this very moment, and all it would cost the prince was Sylvando’s head. He had been outmatched.

Goddess bless him. If no one managed to kill Hendrik before he found the prince again, Sylvando would have the honor of doing it himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am editing this at 3 in the morning since I’ve obviously never had even a semblance of control over my life. Sorry if the Dutch sprinkled in is wrong. As a Spanish/English speaker I’ve been nervous about using it, but yolo and such. Also, the bioluminescent cove was inspired by real beaches in Puerto Rico. :) 💖 I luv my little island.
> 
> Anywho, thanks for reading!! Would really appreciate a lil comment or kudo if you enjoyed. If time and passion permits, I might have another chapter by the end of the month. ILU 💕💕


	5. Heart Like a Crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashamed as he might have been, Sylvando would not apologize, not yet. He would gather the broken pieces of Hendrik and smash them further into dust. The miserable, faded thing Hendrik was would never return, so long as Sylvando had any hand in it. From there, the prince could rise again and become shining, resplendent, just as he was always meant to be. Redemption, not only for his own sake, but for that of Lady Bombastic, of poor old Norberto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, welcome back. :3c I’m very excited about this chapter... hope you enjoy. 💖 Revised and edited by my beautiful wife.

He really only needed a moment, to regain his wits and escape the smothering heat of stale smoke and sweat. Hendrik had made the excuse of needing the restroom, a half truth, and therefore half a lie. 

So with a furtive glance over both shoulders, Hendrik made his escape from the tavern and into the outside world.

It was a miracle, honestly, that he and his pink shirt weren’t immediately noticed and subsequently shuffled back indoors: wearing the obnoxious color, matching the pastel shades of the sails that moved the _Stallion_ , it felt as if there was a metaphorical target placed on his back. Luckily, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves far too much to serve as proper watchdogs.

Playing cards, regaling tales of the sea, flirting with the barmaids, whatever they wanted; it was a well deserved break, and more than adequate to assist Hendrik in his temporary escape. A brief stroll took him from the noisy tavern and the hustle of the docks, away to a quiet beach.

A soft cloak of twilight blanketed the shore, where the wet sand made little noise underfoot and the sea foam lapped at his boots.

He had all of the intents to make a return—were it not for the sudden arrival of a lone woman, a few paces off from the shoreline, capturing Hendrik’s gaze. At that, the prince couldn’t help a sense of wariness. The last time a woman had caught his eye, where had that gotten him? Bludgeoned over the head with a purse full of brick, followed by his mourning regalia being covered in his own sick, no less.

History would not repeat itself today.

...Or so he thought, as the woman called out to him with a deep, invitingly rich voice. 

“A fellow Drustian, all of the way out here?” Her accent, clear as day, only assured Hendrik that he was indeed amongst one of his kinsmen. 

His refusal to turn tail and flee betrayed his earlier hesitation. He stared at her, mouth agape. At this point, stuck on this island as he was, would running truly do him any good? For all he knew, she could have been sent here after him, but that was unlikely. This island was teeming with the blights of society, a fellowship of mutiny, with Hendrik’s captor being the worst offender of them all. Speaking of which, Lady Bombastic would be very displeased once he found out Hendrik had slipped off his collar and snuck away, all right under poor Dave’s nose.

“Indeed so. _Aangenaam je te ontmoeten_. We are well met, my lady.” Another half lie. He doubted her acquaintanceship would be pleasing, being where he was—but even though he hardly looked the part and his current situation begged to differ, Hendrik still possessed the manners of a gentleman. 

With crinkled eyes, though gaze still piercingly sharp, and a full head of faded grey hair, the mysterious woman was older than Hendrik. Perhaps in her mid-fifties, he supposed. Regardless, her scarred face, bold countenance, and the sheathed rapier swinging idly at her side proclaimed that she was much more than she seemed. A marauder most certainly, a fiend across the seas—not at all dissimilar to his unfortunate acquaintanceship, Lady Bombastic. 

“So we are,” the woman replied, clasping Hendrik’s palm with a firm, gloved grip. Strong, which almost reminded the prince of his elder sister. “You can call me Mevrouw Candytuft. And what might your name be, little brother?” Leaning on her right hip, head to toe in faded nomad’s leather, Candytuft had a decidedly sharp edge. She stared at Hendrik, expectantly, in a way that almost made him feel small, though he still dwarfed her in size.

He cleared his throat, and declared with a quiet confidence, “I am known as Willem.”

“Willem,” Candytuft tested the name, giving _Willem_ another once over. Hendrik was no expert on women, as their ways were always mysterious to him, but he sensed in her a keen interest. Not in the way a woman might look at a man—she didn’t seem interested in that sort of thing—but her gaze was akin to one of the prowling sabrecats that liked to stalk around Drustian wheat-fields. That, or she was reminiscent of Jasper walking into a bakery, though Hendrik surmised it was more likely the former. 

“I’ve never seen you around these parts before. No offense, but you look a little too delicate to be a sellsword…” Candytuft continued, eying his pink shirt. Indeed, Hendrik was no mercenary; he was instead a noble prince and knight, despite how he currently lacked the apparel and blade befitting one.

Though that was not to say he was eager to make his true stature known.

“I cannot help but wonder, then,” she mused, “That you must be an aristocrat, one that made his way here searching for someone to hire... That, perhaps, there is a job you need done?”

A proposition? Unfortunately for her, Hendrik was not looking to hire anyone, let alone a mercenary. He already had his hands full with Sylvando, and the rest of the _Stallion’s_ crew, whose presence he coincidentally missed at that very moment.

“I am remiss to tell you that all of my needs in, ahem, the realm of hired swords have been met.” Hendrik was not remiss at all, in fact, but relieved to begin his trek to remove himself from her sight. To get far, far away from her. “I must be off now.”

“So soon? Don’t be so naïve, _mijn snoep_. Scammers are rife here, as I’m sure you’re well aware. It would pain me to hear some conman had their way with you.” Candytuft urged patiently, as she pulled Hendrik back with a steady hand upon his shoulder. 

Immediately, Hendrik made to shove her away. She continued, unbothered, even as his back collided with the broad frame of another stranger. A solid barrier, preventing his escape, and Hendrik whipped his head back towards Candytuft in angered dismay as she continued, “I’m sure we could work out a deal. You know, really help a man like yourself get their money’s worth.”

“And what sort of deal does the generous lady propose?” Hendrik questioned, uselessly. He had been stupid... He had let down his guard yet again, just to climb right into another spider web.

“A fair trade, for Willem,” she replied. “You come along with Massimo and me, do everything I tell you to, and I won’t kill you. In exchange, you’ll live long enough to make me a very rich woman.”

It was hard to argue with the sword still hanging across her hip, even as her accomplice, who could have only been Massimo—a well-groomed and manicured man with blonde hair—pulled Hendrik’s hands in front of him and secured them with a rope.

“Sorry, _patatino_ ,” Massimo said. 

Remaining still, Hendrik ignored Candytuft’s apparent lackey, keeping his focus on the woman herself. “What are you talking about? I have nothing for you, let alone money.” He gestured vaguely, or as much as he could with bound wrists, towards his empty pockets; he had been stripped of everything when he’d been taken on the _Stallion_. No purse, no money, no weapon. Nothing.

“Don’t play dumb, you’re not the one who’s going to give me what I want.” All pretense of friendliness and camaraderie had been dropped, as Candytuft stared up at Hendrik with what could have only been contempt. “I am no Drustian, not anymore. I was banished years ago, but that isn’t going to stop Koning Larkspur from paying me for you. Isn’t that right, _Hendrik_?”

The gears in his head began to turn, thinking. Surely not. Of all things… His father wouldn’t have been reckless enough to promise a reward for Hendrik’s return. It would only complicate matters, especially as Jasper was coming for him. The target Hendrik felt placed upon his back had just become a reality, a tangible burden, and perhaps inexplicably, the pink shirt was not to blame.

Taking his silent, agonized confusion for submission, Candytuft continued onward with her rant, “That’s right. I know exactly who you are. Now, are you going to come with us? Or will I need to send you back to the homeland in pieces?”

“That will not be necessary, madame,” Hendrik replied, behaving with far too much composure for a person in such a one-sided position. “I shall be returning home, but it will not be by your escort. Do you truly think I will allow you to take advantage of my father so? Of me?”

Larkspur was upon his death bed, delusional and ill; he would have promised anything to get Hendrik back, or either of his children. And here was this wretched woman, so ready to exploit a grieving father? Hendrik had his differences with the king, to be sure—but what Candytuft had in mind sickened him. 

Saving himself from Lady Bombastic had been a dreaded failure, but now, at long last, came a time for the prince to redeem himself, to take back his stolen honor: not completely, perhaps, but at least in some small part.

“Now that we have settled this matter, I demand that you release me at once,” Hendrik commanded. His back was as straight as a tower, demanding respect even as his hands were tied in front of him, and he stared down at the fiend with his head held high.

Swayed by his impassioned speech, Candytuft was not; she told the prince as much with the way she had her arms crossed and a defiant smirk on her lips. “Right, that’s all very well and good then. Massimo, please, would you be a dear and help me pluck the little dandelion?”

“Whatever you say,” her subordinate replied, and moved to apprehend Hendrik. “Just come along nicely, eh? And we can get this whole ugly thing over with.”

As soon as a pair of hands came to grab at his bound wrists, to lead him off to who knows where, Hendrik jerked and twisted away. Then, he kicked a heavy heel straight into Massimo’s shin. His captor yelped and swore a colorful string of Gondolian profanities, and for a fleeting moment, Hendrik was sure that he had the upper hand in this fight. His eyes scanned the other for something to grab: a weapon, or something sharp to cut his hands free—at that point, most anything would do.

In the second that passed, Massimo’s grip loosened but only briefly, so as to be replaced by a leather belt meant to wrap around the prince’s thick neck and serve as a makeshift noose. Hendrik coughed as leather dug harshly into skin; in turn, the belt was yanked backwards, taking him with it even as he started to keel forward. His fingers scrabbled at the belt, trying mightily to pry underneath the noose, to relieve his burning lungs. His throat ached and his chest heaved in struggle; his whole body sweltered, making him feel as though he were burning alive.

Blood surged through his veins, and Hendrik curled into himself, with his heart thrumming savagely in his ears. Massimo’s right leg jutted outwards, meaning to ease Hendrik onto the ground as he collapsed—“There’s a good princey,” his captor soothed mockingly, “Stay down.”—but Hendrik would not allow himself to succumb to sleep.

With renewed vigor, Hendrik reared his head back, slamming his skull straight into the face of his assailant. Massimo released the prince with a cry, bright blood spurting from his broken nose, and Hendrik stumbled forward, at last breaking free. Air coursed back into his throbbing lungs, reviving him; unfortunately, he was blinded by the stars and black spots popping across his vision.

Rather than grab at Hendrik, Massimo clutched at his unfortunate face, tears lining his eyes as he wailed. “My nose! No, no, my nose! How could you do this to me!”

Hendrik was determined to do much worse, and in service of that ambition, he pulled the leather belt into his bound hands to swing at his blood-spattered opponent—but a blade at his chin stopped Hendrik right in his tracks, and he tore his hateful gaze away from Massimo back to Candytuft. In his desperate fight for life, the prince had almost forgotten that she was there. With her lackey reduced to a puddle of tears, it seemed she was forced to take things into her own hands: suffice to say, she did not look very happy about it.

Candytuft, jutting her sword out just so, almost enough to prick at Hendrik’s skin and cut off the short hairs of his beard, led him straight down on to his knees and back into a corner. Trapped, at her mercy... Needless to say, it was an aggravatingly familiar sensation. 

“That was a close one there,” she said, looking uninterestedly onward as if she were scolding a child. In a flash, Hendrik’s only means of defense was kicked out of his hands and into the sand, where the belt was left to lay like the slain snake its leather presumably came from. “You’re certainly much less pliable than I was expecting, given the circumstances. But I suppose that was my fault for underestimating you. You are a person of certain acclaim, after all, though so am I. That’s enough of that for now.” 

Hendrik’s arms were yanked straight toward her with one hand, as the other kept the tip of her blade steadily against his throat. He tried not to breathe too deeply, and he couldn’t speak; the blade would puncture his throat, were he to move even slightly. 

The rapier was pulled away from his neck, only to migrate to Hendrik’s face. Candytuft dragged the dull side of her blade across his skin, like kisses along the slope of his cheekbones; not to cut or dismember, but to intimidate. 

“I did try to warn you, _mijn snoep_ , but it seems you don’t respond to anything but cruelty.” Candytuft stared down at him, lips pressed into a firm line as she seemed to contemplate what horrible affliction she would indulge upon Hendrik. She tested her ideas out loud. “I would hate to scar that princely face, so I have another idea. How about we send daddy dearest a finger, and then we’ll see how much he’ll be willing to pay for the rest of you? ...That is, of course, if there’s anything left once I’m done.”

Hendrik tensed. What was she thinking? Did she mean to take him back to Zwaardsrust, or had she decided suddenly that his death was worth much more than his weight in gold? Would she truly bleed him dry just to prove a point?

A voice deep within his mind screamed at him that yes, yes she would. She was sadistic, cruel for the sake of it... every terrible trait befitting of a corsair.

Even with the uncertainty regarding his fate ringing clear in his voice, Hendrik spat “You would not dare!” in return. His words were rendered empty and meaningless, however, no longer bearing the utmost authority he once felt. 

“Shut up, and learn that I’m the one in charge here. You had your chance to cooperate.” Candytuft yanked his hands closer to her. Pain twisted his expression, as it felt like any moment she would tear his aching arms right from their sockets.

The blade danced along the side of Hendrik’s hands, before settling on one chosen digit: the ring finger of his right hand. She began to touch the blade to it, but stopped herself before the unforgiving steel’s thirst for blood could even be sated.

“Massimo, sweetheart, get up already and give the dog something to bite down on!” she ordered. Hendrik was gagged then, with the once discarded leather belt finding another use, as it pressed down upon his tongue and pulled his lips back into an ugly snarl. 

“On the count of three.” Candytuft counted down, sweetly. “One,” she started, and Massimo returned with an arm around Hendrik’s neck to keep him from struggling.

“Once it’s over, you won’t feel a thing,” Massimo promised vaguely, over the sound of Hendrik’s heavy breathing.

“Two,” and the blade pressed open a fine line, a cut along the prince’s pale skin. Bright red and teeming with life that would pour out of him relentlessly, lapped up by the ocean waves at their feet.

Hendrik’s heart thrummed against his ears, as if it were counting along in rhythm to his fate. “Stop it! Don’t!” he cried out, voice breaking with the horrid introduction of fear and pain—but it was all just suppressed, meaningless babble from underneath the gag.

“Three.”

Strong gusts of wind stirred up a cloud of blinding sand, halting the scene. What finalized the end of their performance, however, was the arrow that whistled narrowly past Candytuft and cleaved neatly into the trunk of a nearby palm tree. Joy alit in Hendrik’s heart, then: he envisioned that Jasper had finally come to his rescue, a valiant hero astride a white horse, sent down from the heavens themselves.

The sight that actually greeted the prince differed greatly from his imagination, but at this point beggars couldn’t be choosers. Who had heroically arrived to retrieve him were none other than his captor and aforementioned captor’s prisoner guard/healer, respectively: Sylvando and Angelo. The former did not look pleased to see either Hendrik or Candytuft, but especially not Hendrik, while the latter had another arrow nocked and at the ready. 

“Let the prince go,” Sylvando ordered, sounding painfully indifferent for a situation that, for Hendrik, was life or death. “The check for him is already written in my name.”

Hendrik knew from the start of their entire ordeal that he had only been a means to an end, but hearing those words still stung. Was there anyone out there who wanted to steer him away from harm, all for Hendrik’s own sake? Or was he truly only as good as the price marked upon his head?

At the challenge, Candytuft looked away from Hendrik, so that her eyes locked with Lady Bombastic’s. The prince was discarded, forgotten in the face of new adversity, and all Hendrik could do was try to cradle his bleeding hand. He would have ran from all of them, were it not for Massimo’s shadow still looming over him.

Against four mercenaries, Hendrik doubted that he would have gotten very far to begin with.

He truly hated each and every one of them.

︵‿︵‿୨✿❀✿୧‿︵‿︵

“Sylvando? I barely recognized you, sweetheart. Let me get a closer look at you,” Candytuft greeted, as if the captain were merely an old friend. Though with her, every word that dripped from her lips was condescending, laced with poison—regardless of whether friend or foe or surrogate son was involved. “Rude as ever! Is that any way to greet your mother?”

To think, she still had the gall to call herself that? There was a time when Sylvando looked to her for guidance, for support, and maybe even a bit of motherly affection while under her sails, but those days were long behind them. 

They had a shared history—a complicated one, to say the least. As a stray boy on the run, far away from the family he used to know, Candytuft had taken Sylvando in.

But it was ill-fated.

As soon as they could escape, Sylvando and Dave did so, never to return. Until now, that was; what a bittersweet reunion to chance upon, and one that Lady Bombastic wanted no part of, no less.

It wasn’t by his choice, however: she had taken something from him.

Sylvando had not seen or heard of the woman for almost ten years, but it seemed that she had not changed in any aspect but age. She was still unrelenting, with a sinister inclination to steal and pillage that crossed the line between necessity and cruelty. 

“You’re not my mother,” was all Sylvando had to say to her on the matter. He turned his sights back to Hendrik. The prince’s blood likely only boiled as their eyes met, Sylvando supposed, though that wasn’t to say that Sylvando himself did not feel the same. They would deal with… _that_ … later. “Now give him back, or else.”

Candytuft only laughed. “First you toss a little magic spell my way, and now you’re barking out orders. Someone has gotten much too big for their britches! ‘Or else,’ he says… or else what?”

“Or else I’ll aim for the tree this time and hit you! Though the thought of striking such a beautiful woman pains me greatly.” Angelo replied in his captain’s stead, bow still taut. It was obvious that he wasn’t going to be hurting anyone other than himself; the whole crew, captive included, had seen him drink away his worries just that same afternoon.

Sylvando halted him with an arm in front. “Angel, no. You leave flower boy and the lovely lady to me—I didn’t realize this would be personal. I want you to get back to the ship. Dave will know what to do.”

“But…” Angelo paused, but eventually did as he was ordered. While he scurried off, Candytuft laughed again, as if she were reliving a memory. 

“That’s right, this is a family matter!” she called out and crossed her arms, disapproval clear on her face. “Do you really expect me to just hand over the little prince, when you can barely boss around your own men? I don’t think so! Why, just look at him: I’ve already taught him how to behave.”

“Trust me, darling, it’s all just an act,” Sylvando sighed. “I’m speaking from experience.” 

He too, after all, had made the mistake of thinking Hendrik docile, a man apathetic to the push and pull of destiny. ...Okay, maybe he still was those things, but the prince was ultimately, above all else, manipulative. Were Sylvando to let Candytuft run off with him as she so wished, he knew Hendrik would eventually find some way to outsmart her.

Then, unlike Lady Bombastic, the marauder would retaliate by simply killing him.

That was who she was. In all honesty, Sylvando would have likely carried no objections were it not for the important matter of getting the rest of his money.

But yet, in his heart of hearts…

“Oh, so it was you who plucked him from his ivory tower? But to what ends?” Candytuft queried, then quickly stopped herself. “Nevermind—it doesn’t matter. But I suppose, then, that I should at least be grateful; if you hadn’t done such a terrible job at keeping him tethered, I would have never found him.”

“We all make mistakes, but I’ll be taking him back now.” Sylvando shook his head. ‘Mistakes’ was certainly a word for it. He had made plenty of them the past week, but this one? He would remedy quickly.

He sauntered straight over to Hendrik, a hand resting casually upon the hilt of the sheathed rapier that was slung on a belt over his hips—a passive threat. His walking, talking, pain-in-the- _culo_ paycheck stood alone in the sand… But something was off: hadn’t there been another nearby him?

Hendrik’s state served to distract Sylvando from figuring out the answer to that question, however. With his hands bound and his face twisted into an expression just shy of an outright snarl, the little lost prince was quite the sight; thankfully, he looked unharmed... Save for the small cut dripping along his right hand. Sylvando had arrived just in time. Of course Candytuft would want a prince’s finger, he mused: in her eyes that was a prize in itself. She always had an odd fascination with fingers… Mainly cutting them off.

Hendrik’s glare helped to steer Sylvando’s mind away from the pesky matter of mutilation—a welcome relief, for he certainly didn’t wish to think on it any longer.

“Your highness, good to see you,” he greeted, as if they were at a garden soirée exchanging pleasantries; he promptly tore the gag away from between the other man’s teeth.

In response, Hendrik fixed his harsh gaze to greet him in kind. “I never thought I would be happy to remake your acquaintance. You certainly took your time.” 

“ _¡Coño!_ Do you ever shut up? A simple thank you would do wonders for you right now, princey-poo.” He hated how easily Hendrik made him snap and bristle. Ungrateful bastard! Sylvando had liked him much better five seconds ago when he couldn’t wag around that defiant tongue. Sylvando plucked a dagger—a prized heirloom he was never without—free from the sheath he kept strapped to his thigh, so the prince could cut himself free. 

The prince only frowned deeper in response, as was his reaction to most things, but began undoing his bonds. “Cease your childish sulking. You have no—“ His face then alighted in surprise, and he interrupted himself with apparent urgency: “Sylvando! On your left!”

Immediately, Sylvando ducked and turned. Right where his head had been, a solitary tree branch came swinging down. As soon as he was out of the way, Hendrik launched a solid kick into the center of their assailant’s chest, sending the figure sprawling into the sand with a drawn out gasp of pain. 

Ignoring how Hendrik had just saved his neck, Sylvando gazed down toward his would-be attacker. As recognition hit him, his stomach plummeted into the ground alongside his surprise attacker, and he huffed out a breath that balanced between both annoyance and unrelenting despair. Holding the end of the impromptu weapon was a familiar face, one Sylvando had been fortunate enough to avoid for quite some time… but he supposed all good things had to come to an end eventually.

“Massimo, dear! I didn’t even notice you were there! Oh, honey… What on earth happened to your face?” Sylvando gasped, a delicate hand hovering over his own mouth in surprise. 

Massimo tried to pull himself up from the sand, appearing almost as scandalized by Sylvando’s words as he was by Hendrik’s blow to his stomach. The poor thing looked absolutely atrocious, like he’d been thrown through the ringer.

So many faces from his past, yet Sylvando wanted nothing to do with any of them. He had known Massimo for almost as long as he had known Candytuft, and the other man seemed to think they still had a rivalry between them to this very day.

The problem with that was it being completely imaginary, one-sided—it existed solely in Massimo’s head. Even as a young runaway and budding marauder, Sylvando had no time for him; it was that same rejection that drove the boy insane, even well into his adulthood. He couldn’t really explain why he detested him so—it was just, well, Massimo was simply the most pathetic creature in existence. He was but a cheap knockoff of Lady Bombastic: a big, phony fraud, complete with ugly blond hair and an even uglier Gondolian accent (which, he might add, wasn’t even real, by the way!).

“Hah!” As he—at long last, and after much struggle in the unforgiving sand—found a proper footing, Massimo laughed airily, though Sylvando didn’t find anything about the situation very humorous (aside, of course, from Massimo himself).

He pointed at Hendrik with a shaking finger, and Sylvando couldn’t help but suddenly stand protectively in-between them in response. “That Drustian dog is what happened to me! Broke my nose, he did! My beautiful nose!”

“In all fairness, I must address the matter of this man attempting to choke me to death,” Hendrik stated, factual to a fault.

Sylvando had to concede to that. He chided Massimo: “Sorry about your face, darling, but it can’t be helped. I suppose being beautiful is a burden I must continue to bear alone—“

“Do not think yourself my superior!” Massimo cried, only for his wails to fall on deaf ears. “You haven’t changed at all! _Sei una testa di cazzo_! Always so full of yourself, just because you used to be Mama’s favorite!” 

Sylvando couldn’t help but crack a smile. Massimo was the same as he had always been, and his little tantrum was almost incentive enough to spur a wave of nostalgia for the old days. He had always been such a good proverbial punching bag… Sylvando owed his sharp tongue to their years of spats.

Not that such memories gave Massimo any kind of splendor. Sylvando moved to push past him, but couldn’t resist giving him one last parting tease for the road. “You know, Massie, people really appreciate someone who’s genuine. I would try dropping the fake persona and accent. Your real name isn’t even Massimo—“ He casually turned to Hendrik, leading the prince along with a hand around his bicep, and boldly whispered, “—his real name isn’t even Massimo.”

Hendrik released a hushed gasp, almost timidly, as if he were finally seeing the fraud in a lesser light.

That, it seemed, was the final straw. “ _Bastardo_! I’ll kill you both for this and string up your innards for the seagulls to eat!” Massimo hollered, before he released a brutal war-cry and charged straight for Sylvando.

It was hard not to see him coming, but Sylvando had to appreciate his tenacity. Here he was, fighting his Mama’s battles, and what did Massimo have to show for it all? ...Aside from a broken nose? 

Still, he would find no easy victory with Sylvando. The man known as Lady Bombastic dodged the other with a twist and turn, almost gliding across the sand on a booted heel. He swerved towards Massimo and made a show of pressing the tip of an outstretched finger to his enemy—right into the center of his battered, swollen, blood-stained nose.

“ _Boop!_ “ Sylvando winked and pushed down. 

Immediately, from bright, blinding pain and shock, Massimo’s eyes rolled into the back of his skull and one last scandalized wheeze escaped him. Defeated, he could only collapse bodily onto the ground. From there, he lay completely still, as if the life had been drained out of him by Sylvando’s impressive, sinister poke on the nose.

A piteous sight. Alive, but dead inside.

Sylvando dusted off his hands, satisfied with his work. “Sorry you had to see that, Your Highness.”

Hendrik looked back and forth between Sylvando and Massimo’s unmoving form. “I… you…” he stuttered out, and the look of confusion on his face was so endearingly precious, it almost made the whole annoying situation worth it to Sylvando. “How did you—“

Candytuft interrupted them, a condescending clap resounding from her gloved hands. “Oh, wasn’t that just adorable? You two always did love to bicker.” She’d been standing there the entire time, watching... not that she had any interest in helping her only lackey, apparently.

Sylvando gently pushed Hendrik aside, again serving as a barrier between him and any harm that threatened the prince, as he tutted, “And you always loved to pit us against one another.”

Indeed, she never was a good mother, and couldn’t stand when her children weren’t vying for every little scrap of her affection, even when it meant they had to turn on each other. For Candytuft, it was all in the pursuit, the affirmation of power she had over others.

She no longer held that sort of hold on Sylvando, which meant it was time to settle things once and for all; it was time to leave the past behind him, dead and buried. 

“Now it’s your turn, Candy.” Lady Bombastic unsheathed his rapier; the sound of its metal sliding free sang a solemn lullaby through the night air. “Time to dance.”

︵‿︵‿୨✿❀✿୧‿︵‿︵

It was a duel between pirates, one steeped in codes and honor that Hendrik had no place in. Not that he ever hoped to understand any of it; but he supposed that even criminals had their own laws to abide to.

At Sylvando’s challenge, Candytuft only drew out her own rapier in turn, an almost proud smile pulling at the sides of her weathered face. “You finally return to me after all of these years, just to try and cut me down?” She clucked her tongue in reproach. “Sylvando, dear, you wound me!” 

“Not yet, honey—but a little bit of bodily harm can certainly be arranged, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

They both stood an equal measure apart, as if certifying the circle of terrain that would serve as their makeshift battlefield. Any sense of whimsy in the captain had fled, and instead his face had turned to stone. Heartless, unreadable, prepared to stop anything or anyone that dared to stand in his way.

Hendrik was a few paces behind him, next to Massimo’s fainted figure. The thought of fleeing lurked again in his mind, but that still left the dreadful question of where he could even escape to unanswered.

The fight was not Hendrik’s own, nor did it even seem to be truly about him, at its core: instead it seemed to serve as a resolution, of sorts, for… whatever had happened in the past between Sylvando and Candytuft. Hendrik certainly didn’t know, nor did he much care; yet, no matter what the outcome was, his own struggle would still continue. It mattered not which of them won in the end, or who lived, or who died.

And yet... Somehow, an ignorable part of Hendrik hoped that Candy would not succeed. 

The matriarch was the first to swing, silver flashing, but Sylvando caught the blade with his own. His longer limbs served as an advantage, giving him adequate space and command of their arena. On the other hand, Candytuft was far more ruthless, experienced: doubtlessly, she would find some way to trick Lady Bombastic into submission, just like she had done with Hendrik. 

Hendrik was something of a traditionalist in terms of sword play; he was not well acquainted in the realm of one handed swords. Neither did he much care for the thrust and slice of a rapier, not when compared to the much preferable (and much heavier) swing of a broadsword. All the same, he could certainly appreciate the sight of a rapier’s—and its owner’s—work, particularly when it was wielded with such precision. Sylvando and his blade alike moved with grace, fluidity: not to cleave his enemies apart with brutally fatal immediacy, but to strike punishing slices and strategically shepherd opponents into a corner with the point of his sword. 

It was easy to see the resemblance between them, if Candytuft really did have a hand in raising Lady Bombastic. They were both ambitious, adaptable, and deceptively warm—all useful traits if one wanted to take command of the ocean, as well as command of all whom sailed its waters. But somewhere, however faintly, there lay within a semblance of something else about Sylvando... something Hendrik couldn’t quite place, even as he watched him do battle: a murmur he could not define, lurking underneath the other’s well crafted persona... a vague recollection of something strikingly familiar.

Whatever it was would not reveal itself no matter how hard Hendrik considered it, however, and so he was content for now to watch on in awe. 

“This isn’t about us, is it? It’s about that man—Hendrik! Your sweet flower boy?” Candytuft laughed, like a cunning strategist who had looked over a meticulous plan and found a new exploit. “Do you really think that killing me will help you repossess him? Sylvando, dear, I thought I taught you better than that.”

Instead of answering her cryptic question, Sylvando only raised his blade skyward. “Not really. He’ll probably just try to kill me once I’m finished with you.” He thrusted forward, joining their blades to force hers downward, only for the metal to shriek yet another cry as she parried his rapier away.

He didn’t move out of the way fast enough, and Candy used their proximity to send a punch barreling straight toward him, her fist connecting squarely with Sylvando’s jaw. As the captain careened to the side, taken aback by the blow, his surprised eyes locked with Hendrik’s own.

It was there, mirrored in the other’s gaze, that Hendrik saw something inexplicable: understanding.... and... what was it…? A touch of longing?

The prince was the first to tear his eyes away. His sight landed back on Candytuft as she made her approach: a beast stalking languidly towards her downed prey, with only one final blow standing between her and her prize.

And all Hendrik could do was desperately shout. “Get up, Sylvando!”

Candytuft glowered down at her former protégé, blade extended, looking for all the world like a disappointed mother. 

“So it is! What did I tell you?” Candytuft sneered. “You’ll only end up with your heart torn to pieces, and I won’t be there to kiss it all better. Oh, Sylvando. When will you finally get it through that foolish head? Mother _always_ knows best!”

Hendrik’s breath hitched when Sylvando, instead of rushing backwards blindly to retreat from harm’s way, planted his feet in the sand and thrusted upwards. At that lower angle, his flesh was too low to receive the end of Candy’s blade, and it was his blade that pierced into her shoulder, instead of the other way around.

At her shuddering gasp, Sylvando withdrew his bloodied rapier from Candytuft’s body, just as she fell backwards onto the sand, and repositioned it at the tip of her chin. 

“This dance is done, mama. Shut up, get up, and get out of my sight.”

Even while bleeding out and breathing shakily, Candytuft still managed to criticize. “What in blazes are you talking about, _mijn snoep_? Be a good boy and finish the job.” She hissed through clenched teeth as she pressed a closed fist against her wound, trying to slow the rapid flow of blood out of her body. “You have your prince. Now kill me and be on your way.”

“No,” he said, surprising both Candytuft and Hendrik—though for all of Sylvando’s simplicity, a deep sadness was writ clearly upon his face. “You’re right, Candy. I’m not like you. I know you value your reputation more than anything, so spin the tale however you wish, darling.

“But leave us, leave Hendrik, and never come back here. Do that, and you will not die—at my hand, at least, unless you deny me my wish: I never want to see you. Ever. Again.” He paused for a moment, considering something, and then added, “And that goes double for your pathetic little monkey. Now, scram!”

Candytuft rose to her feet, the menace of her scowl overpowered by the pitiful way she had to lean heavily against the arrow-pierced palm tree to stay upright. “My sweet Sylv,” she breathed, every word dripping with venom, “You always were far too noble for your own good. Keep it up, and you might not be among the living for much longer.”

︵‿︵‿୨✿❀✿୧‿︵‿︵

Satisfied by getting in the last word, Candytuft at last obeyed Sylvando’s order, and took her leave—though not before kicking Massimo awake. He subsequently followed her trail, with his accent seemingly all-but-erased from memory (at least, based upon how he sounded before his voice faded from their earshot, as he peppered his captain with more and more confused questions and got only frosty silence in return).

Ultimately, whatever her reasons had been for wanting to take the prince’s ransom—whether purely for money or something more nefarious than even he could imagine—Sylvando supposed that his unexpected reunion with Candytuft could have gone much, much worse. 

He had fled from under her wing with a pang of regret the first time. Of course, that remorse was solely because he had been hopelessly naïve and lonely, even when he had managed to convince Dave to flee with him. Telling his quartermaster of all of this would likely be an inevitability, but... A protective part of Sylvando wanted to keep their spar a secret. Their old captain stirred painful memories in both of their hearts, and Sylvando wasn’t sure if he had it in him to hurt his oldest friend by digging those memories back up.

That was neither here nor there, though. For now, he at the very least had someone else to take out his frustrations on: someone with lavender hair and a very punchable face. 

At the thought, he spun around on his heels to face Hendrik. The prince, who had until then stood idly, pulled out the very same knife he’d been given by Sylvando when the captain approached.

“Do not come any closer,” Hendrik warned, his deep voice carrying a decidedly squirrelly edge—wait, was he... afraid? With the prince, he could never be too sure.

But his assumptions had, for once, been correct: that as soon as he had disposed of Candy, Hendrik would turn his sights upon Sylvando in order to free himself. Normally, he relished at the thought of always being proved right, saying _I told you so_ , but right now? He didn’t have the time—nor the patience—for this. They needed to get back to the _Stallion_ , pronto.

“You’re not going to hurt me with that dinky old dagger. Your little plan to escape didn’t work, so let’s head over to the ship and you can cry about it there, eh?” Sylvando said, as weary as he was unamused. Hendrik should have considered how lucky he was to be alive right now—better yet, that Sylvando decided he wasn’t worth binding and gagging again.

Hendrik withdrew his weapon, but the expression on his face was still one of contempt; his blue eyes were a mixture of frustration and confusion. 

“What in the devil are you prattling on about? Do you mean to say that I was collaborating with that harridan? She meant only to exploit me for her own betterment, much the same as you!” Hendrik shouted, clearly emboldened by both anger and bewilderment from the whole ordeal. “And what even was that? Your swordplay, sparing her life—how can you claim yourself to be a marauder?!”

“It doesn’t matter!” Sylvando snapped, seized by a comparable rage. “You have no idea what you’re doing! You are a careless, stupid, spoiled idiot! And you know what, _pendejo_? Were it not for me, you would be dead right now!” By Yggdrasil, Sylvando fumed, if it was what needed to be done, he’d drag Hendrik back by the neck!

“Were it not for you, I would not be in this blasted situation to begin with!” Hendrik retorted, his voice booming with newfound lack of restraint. “Now leave me be! I will return to Zwaardsrust yet, but not by your mercy!”

They were both in each other’s faces then. Days of built up frustrations were gripping the helm, and each man was taken over by a hot, painful wash of mutual anger and loathing.

Sylvando clutched the prince by the shirt collar, and yanked the taller man down to his level. “Darling,” he purred through clenched teeth, “I don’t know how many times we need to go over this. You are my prisoner, and you will listen to me, because you and I are far from finished.”

He wished that Hendrik would stop throwing himself in harm’s way at every turn. When would the moron finally realize the truth? Anyone else who was coming for him simply wanted to use him for their own selfish gain, and it was only Sylvando who would be there, time and time again, to save his sorry skin.

More than that, Sylvando hated that he was driven by an old desire to protect the foolish prince, to be his shield. He wanted to be no different from the rest of these sinners and thieves: Candytuft had been right, when she had said that he was too noble for his own good. It had been a trait instilled in him by his father, since the day he was born. How stupid he was—to think he could escape from the past, from the task placed upon him squarely at birth!

He shouldn’t have, but Sylvando thought back to over twenty years ago, when he and Hendrik were only mere boys, and not the bitter enemies that they were now. One fateful day, Sylvando had thought Prins Hendrik lost when a game of hide and seek with Prinses Amaranth went astray. In his efforts to find the young prince, he had nearly torn the entire Drustian castle apart, and would have reduced the kingdom to rubble were it not for Rodrigo somehow being able to corral his foolhardy son back to his senses. In the end, the little prince had been fine—just exceedingly excellent at getting himself into trouble.

He was still just like that, insufferably so, even to this day... Likewise, even now, Sylvando could not hide his efforts to protect Hendrik with everything he had. 

Why had he done this to himself? When Princess Jade had approached him with such a simple job, Lady Bombastic should have turned her away.

“You will be a fine knight one day, Norberto,” Hendrik had told him all those years ago, with a warm, charming grin tugging at the corners of his pretty, young face, “And I could not ask Yggdrasil herself for a better knight to be my protector.”

The Hendrik that was in front of him now was not nearly as endearing. The prince’s affection for him from those days was long gone, and had been replaced by a hatred that Sylvando knew was all-too-justly deserved. That Hendrik only hated Sylvando and not Norberto proved to be of no solace, as he still had yet to realize that Lady Bombastic and the boy from his past were one and the same.

Impetuously, Hendrik continued with his rant, evidently frustrated at the bold implication that yet again suggested that he was merely someone else’s property. He looked as if he wanted to carve Sylvando open, and leave him to bleed out into the ocean.

It was oddly alluring.

“Why are you so obstinate?” Hendrik yelled, before a grand revelation dawned across his face—only to serve as another crack in his armor. “You cannot just barge into my life and lay claim to me. I belong to no man, least of all you! I am not your dog!”

Sylvando agreed to that, “You’re right, _querido_. You’re not my dog, but you are mine. You always have been,” and then he pulled Hendrik fiercely into a kiss.

It was terrible, disastrous, the meeting of their lips. Not at all like any of the soft caresses Sylvando shared with lovers from the past—but then, it might have been presumptuous to assume he’d have experienced otherwise. Here he was, kissing Hendrik with a madness stewing in his fickle heart, an unfathomable heat rising up from his stomach to his chest; it was almost enough to make Sylvando’s knees weak, locked in place, nearly bumping into Hendrik’s own.

Sylvando was expecting a slap across the face, or an insistent push, or a hard shove—or, better yet, that old dagger stabbed right into his back. Anything to grant Hendrik his much coveted freedom, to finally rid himself of the marauder once and for all... Yet no such retaliation ever came.

Instead, Hendrik had risen to the occasion. Big, soft hands, caked in dry blood, slid over the captain’s biceps and jerked him closer to intensify their heated kiss.

Sylvando wanted to be sorry, for all of the events that led them here. His highest offense was not deceiving the prince or telling him that he was empty inside—no, he deserved a little honesty. It was, in a strange way, the only kindness he could provide after stealing him away.

But forcing Hendrik to believe that he was worthless, save for what profit he granted those who controlled him, just as everyone else had done, was his worst crime. Sylvando had been lying to him, and to himself, but he was not at all sorry. An apology would have implied he wasn’t secretly euphoric that all of those things had brought Hendrik back into his life. He realized that, now... much like a brick to the head.

Ashamed as he might have been, Sylvando would not apologize, not yet. He would gather the broken pieces of Hendrik and smash them further into dust. The miserable, faded thing Hendrik was would never return, so long as Sylvando had any hand in it. From there, the prince could rise again and become shining, resplendent, just as he was always meant to be. Redemption, not only for his own sake, but for that of Lady Bombastic, of poor old Norberto.

As Hendrik kissed him back, teeth gnashing, his tongue fluttered in, and Sylvando allowed it. The moment between them was vulnerable, fragile, and could have easily been shattered at a moment’s notice. Gone was Sylvando’s denial, his excuses, but he still held onto his secrets while he pulled Hendrik ever closer, running fingers through his hair and gently cupping his face. 

There was a striving to withhold himself, enough to make Sylvando nearly tremble. It wasn’t fair what he was doing, it was wrong, and a part of it seemed so conniving, exploitive. He wanted to protect the prince, but Sylvando made a reprehensible liar of himself: he was a hypocrite, for not telling Hendrik of his true identity.

And just like that, their kiss ceased when Hendrik at long last pushed him away. Instead of the prince’s lips, his mouth was met with the bitingly cold night air, and Sylvando stared toward the other man in wide eyed surprise, as if neither of them could believe what they had just done.

“What was—“ Hendrik’s pale face bristled, his expression like crackling thunder, as if he hadn’t just kissed Sylvando back with immeasurable fervor.

A yell for Sylvando from the shore chased away the thought of any explanation, and they both ripped their gaze away from the other to find the source of the disruption. 

At the helm of a small sail boat was Erik, looking for all intents panicked as he cried out for his guardian. “Ma!” he practically screamed, voice trailing, and Sylvando could then see Eleven by his side as he always was. The other’s expression was far less intense, with the merman looking pleased to just be along for a ride, but Sylvando realized then the source of his son’s woes.

They pulled into the sand, boat marooned hurriedly, and Erik escorted Eleven out with one arm at his back and another looped underneath the merman’s legs.

Which should have been impossible, seeing as Eleven was supposed to have a tail right where his son was holding him.

“Who on earth is that?” Hendrik muttered, but it went unanswered. He had never met Erik’s little fish friend, holed up in the captain’s quarters for days on end as he had been. Now was as good a time as any to introduce them, Sylvando supposed... _After_ he was finished with Erik.

Erik carried Eleven over to them, which was clearly a bit of a struggle, and placed the other boy onto two shaky, deceptively human looking limbs.

Obviously, Erik had to be to blame—if this was some prank, Sylvando really wanted no part of it.

“You! Stay right there!” Sylvando addressed Hendrik, and subsequently whipped his head around to berate Erik. “And you! Honey, you’d best start running!”

“Ma—” Erik started, but the words dropped from his tongue as soon as he caught Sylvando’s fiery gaze. Eleven wobbled nearby, clasping onto his friend for support, all the while soaking wet and curiously quiet.

Every time he told Erik not to run around and do something stupid, what did the boy go ahead and do? He ran around and did something stupid!

Oh, _why_ did he even have children? Remorse and loathing weighed Sylvando down. As if he didn’t already have his hands full enough with _Hendrik_!

“Oh _cariño_ , for the love of all things, can you please, please, just for one blessed second, not stir up some fiasco that’s going to drive your mother insane!” Sylvando groused. He didn’t want to hear whatever nonsense Erik came up with for an excuse, this time.

All the same, unfortunately... he really, _really_ needed to hear why, exactly, Eleven now had _legs_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW OMG SYLVANDO AND NORBERTO? ARE THE SAME PERSON? 
> 
> Next time... Hendrik and Sylvando may or may not address their angry kiss, and we find out what the hell Erik and El have been up to.
> 
> I can’t tell you all how excited I was about creating Candytuft (and Massimo rip). I know that fandom OCs aren’t always warmly received but lbh this story is full on AU at this point. I really thought about making her Sylvando’s canon mother, as they have similarities, but decided to complicate things a little less. 
> 
> Anyways, if you enjoyed please maybe leave a kudo or comment. They always brighten my day and I like to hear what y’all think. 💖💖 I have a Valentines Day Sylvendrik fic in the works soo... next update will probably be later than usual.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, you can yell at me on twitter @cherryxmelo 💕


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